Void I
by kremesch
Summary: VincentXTseng Vincent POV Yaoi. In Vincent's search for penance, he discovers that misery doesn't always love company, or at least, doesn't want to admit to it. And in this case, it also has a name. COMPLETED
1. I can't Let You Go that Easily

**I Can't Let You Go That Easily**

* * *

**Sequel to Void**

**I wound up writing a little more, because I felt like it, and decided to go ahead and post it. Once again, I don't plan on wasting too many resources. But I can't help but have a little fun with it, particularly since this installment is a little more adventerous than the last one, and things go more wrong for both of them. So, let's see where this one goes, as long as people are interested.**

* * *

I don't know what's coming over me or why I'm doing what I'm doing. Obsessive doesn't cover the aspects of my behaviour as I follow him all over the Midgar region and keep an eye out for anyone else that might be trying to kill or attack him. Justified doesn't explain it either, even though I attempt to justify it in my head.

I keep telling myself it's to protect him, and then I keep asking myself why I'd want to. Not to mention, after what I did, he's well within his right to not want me anywhere near him. I doubt I'd want me anywhere near me after taking advantage of him like I did either.

But then again, like I'm suffering from an illness I can't shake, I also keep reminding myself that he never fired at me when he had the chance.

From what I've seen of his actions, he has no problem taking lives, not even when it's people he used to work with or even trained. And as far as honour goes, I'm not so sure that he really has any, or maybe that's just what I want to believe so I can justify myself as I continue to chase him through the open fields like a wraith, utilizing my abilities to appear like vapour when I need to.

He's getting closer to his base and I'm beginning to believe that he knows I'm following him since he keeps his eyes on all the possible areas where I would be. He catches on quick and seems more wary of me than he was before.

But I can't say that I blame him.

I'm becoming wary of me too.

* * *

When he gets to the farm, the first thing he does is go straight to his quarters on the outskirts, separate from everything else, and I don't doubt for a second that he chose it for that very reason. It's a small bungalow that has everything he'd ever need to live happily in for the rest of his life, assuming that he's capable of ever being happy.

He walks quickly and goes out of his way to not be noticed by anyone while he sneaks up to his own door and locks it behind him after he enters his conservative and sparsely decorated living room that gives no hint of the feminine touch he hides.

Then he stares out of one of his windows—the one that's facing the direction of the barn I'm in and sneers before he quickly walks up to it and pulls the drapes shut in a manner that suggests he's trying to tell me to leave him the hell alone.

And to make his message clear, he does the same thing with every drape on every window in his living room, and he even goes so far as to do the same in his kitchen. He may be overstating, and he may be acting a little childish since I get the thorough message. But he's making no attempt to hide the fact that he thinks I don't and I hardly notice the damaging etches that I'm making in the floor of the loft I'm watching him from as I unconsciously dig with the claw of my gauntlet into the old wood.

He wastes no time after that to move into his bedroom. But surprisingly, he doesn't close his drapes. Instead, he allows the movement of his silhouette to be seen through the sheers that are heavy enough to block out any detail and behaves as if he's in too much of a hurry to tend to covering it up further while he quickly takes off his tie, blazer, and shirt in a way that makes him seem angry, and he tosses them into the garbage by the entrance to his room. Then he walks into the adjoining bathroom and slams the door.

No bath is run this time though. I can hear the shower running from the vent he's opened to let out the insane amount of steam that's escaping from a shower that's probably too hot to tolerate. He couldn't have picked a better way to punish me for what I did, and I have no doubt in my mind that the only reason he's taking a shower is because he doesn't want to bathe in the filth I've contaminated him with by touching him.

And still, I'm unconsciously digging into the wood that I'm crouching upon while I hear Reno talking to his partner as they approach an opening surrounded by trees somewhere near the rear of the barn. I don't bother to try and look through the cracks behind me though. I'm falling so far that I don't even care about what they're up to as I hear Reno mention something about the ground sinking, Rufus being pissed off, and the fact that they're going to have to dig up the bodies.

"He's gonna be pissed when he finds out this whole section's a bog—Ya bring the shovels?"

"Yup."

"Fer fuck's sake, Man. Is that a fuckin hand stickin out'a the ground?"

"Yup."

"Fuck me, Man. It's still fuckin ripe. This job fuckin sucks."

"Mm. You might want to cover your face—This is going to smell."

"Thanks fer remindin me. Hey. Ya hear somethin?"

"Like what?"

"Scratchin."

As far as I'm concerned, he's spending way too long in there and I can't help but wonder if his intention is to empty out the entire hot water tank in an unnecessary attempt to over-exaggerate the fact that he thinks of me as nothing more than a filthy animal that doesn't deserve to be anywhere near him.

"Hm. What is that?"

"Dunno. Comin from over there, somewhere."

I should also be paying more attention to what Reno's saying to his partner since it's no longer business-related. But instead, I'm too focused on the fact that Tseng has finally turned the water off and is hopefully getting himself pulled together until I suddenly realize that Reno's talking about the noise I'm making by scratching at the wood at my feet, making me realize that I should move as quickly as I can to get away before I wind up causing even more trouble for Tseng.

I don't get very far though, because thanks to my own sense of personal hatred and lack of self-control, I dug far enough into the wood to make it snap beneath my feet when I go to move and I crash down to the ground below, missing the haystacks by at least a foot and landing in a pile of dual horn dung while grimacing from the snap that I'm sure was one of my legs.

I've fallen like this probably a thousand times or more in my lifetime, and it only seems fitting that this is the first time I've ever broken something that would cripple my chances of getting away.

"What the fuck was that?"

"It came from over there."

But I try to get up anyway, more for Tseng's sake than my own, and mostly because I've already embarrassed him enough as it is. The least I can do is try to spare him from the indignity of having to explain my presence—never mind the fact that he'll have to lay his disapproving eyes on me again.

Unfortunately though, the sound of gunfire coming at my direction and the bullet painfully lodging into the bicep of my left arm—my gun-arm, stops me from going anywhere. It doesn't really help that I've grunted loud enough for everyone to hear while I instinctually cover the wound with my other hand and fall onto my back. Nor does it help that it's Tseng's gun shooting at me either, making me suddenly question my earlier conclusions about him not shooting me.

And the fact that Reno yells out a "Stop" spell to stop me from moving or getting away—and "Fire," which sets the barn on fire—makes it a perfect and fitting way for me to leave this world as I lay behind a haystack in a pile of ripe manure, cursing all the damn spell-casters in the world for being too cowardly to actually face their enemies while I try to ignore the spasms from the shooting pain I'm in as I lay here, helplessly.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Tseng asks Reno in an angry tone from somewhere near the entrance before he elaborates on the fact that Reno set the barn on fire without really thinking it through to the end result. Then he orders them both—him and Rude—to find Elena and to prepare for a meeting in Rufus' office about a possible concern while he takes care of the growing mess that I'm becoming.

Of course, he doesn't mention me at all—that would be too degrading for him, and if I wasn't so focused on the pain I was in, I'd probably realize that the reason he hasn't mentioned me has nothing to do with that at all.

But what do I know? Except for the fact that I think I might be losing my mind and blaming him for it.

All I know is that he's managed to creep in here while holding a rag over his mouth to protect his lungs from the smoke and is now standing above me with his gun aimed at me while his gloved forefinger is readied on the trigger. Cold charcoal-coloured eyes stare down at me with an empty look as if they're looking at nothing. And I think of how fitting it is since it's the familiar look of a killer—detached and uncaring, and I strangely feel relieved.

But what he does is far from relieving.

He doesn't shoot me like I thought he was going to do. Instead, he kneels down and hits me across the temple with the handle of his gun, hard enough to make me briefly black out and see stars before a searing pain shoots behind my eyes.

Then he fires at the bolts holding what used to be the back door to the barn closed so he can kick it down. He mutters something about the smoke being thick enough to provide cover and that I'm lucky his home is close enough. After that, he grabs me by the collar and literally drags me along the hard and stone-covered ground while I try to overcome the Stop-spell so I can struggle away from the choking constriction he's provided around my neck as he does so.

He doesn't waste any time once he's got me inside. Right away, he drags me into his main bathroom and then cuffs me to a solid beam that's supporting the unfinished ceiling above. The entire half of the room is unfinished and far larger than it needs to be and I realize the floor I'm sitting on is solid concrete with a drain located in the middle. He shakes his head as if he knows I'm wondering what questionable activities he does in here and says, "Laundry room. It never got finished."

Then he quickly points at the machines and turns his back to me while taking a deep breath as if he's trying to calm himself down before he sharply turns and snaps his cane across my broken leg, faster than I could have anticipated, and causing me to grunt from the searing pain as a result.

His lips are pursed as he glares at me and quickly retracts it. Then he kneels in front of me and lifts my chin with the end of it before he rips my headscarf off, along with several hairs that were still attached to my head, causing me to involuntarily hiss. After that, he tilts my head and inspects the wound from when he hit me in the temple.

"You're already healing," he mutters. His tone is too cold to tell if he's concerned about it or not though.

Then he grabs my arm and notes that the bullet is still embedded in the flesh before he looks down at my leg and runs his hand clinically over where it's broken. He moves it about and presses lightly until I grimace, as if that were the reaction he was looking for, and then he nods.

"It won't set itself, will it?" he isn't really asking, and he stands and turns his attention away from me too quickly to see me shake my head as an answer. Then he opens a cupboard near the sink and pulls out a small case. All the while, he's still wearing his gloves.

"From what little research I could find about you, Valentine," he starts as he digs around and finds a pair of scissors, a sharp knife that's packaged in a sterile wrapping, and a clean towel, "I'm under the impression that your ability to heal is at such an exaggerated rate that it can sometimes cause more damage than good if you're not immediately tended to."

Then he comes back over to me and starts to cut the leg of my pants from where it's broken while inquiring, "I'm curious—How many times have you had to re-break your own bones or cut yourself open to dig out a bullet or some other foreign object because your body healed over it too quickly?"

More times than I care to count, really. But I don't bother to say anything since I'm under the impression he's already figured that out on his own and he's probably only talking to keep me distracted as he firmly places his hands below and above the break in my leg.

"Do you feel pain like the rest of us do?"

When I nod at him, he nods back and wrings a towel before placing it in my mouth and turning his attention back to my leg.

"You might want to bite down on that, then."

And he wastes no time to prove his suggestion was well-intended as my body reacts to the shock by involuntarily jumping, and I half-growl and half-scream into the muffling constriction of the towel while he insensitively orders me to, "Shut up," without bothering to look at me or explain why, even though I know the reason is because he doesn't want anyone hearing me.

Then he takes the knife and removes the sealed packaging around it and commences to remove the bullet while I grunt as he digs and cuts it out. He's not being unnecessarily rough though, unlike I would have expected, and I can only guess that he got the remainder of his aggression out when he whipped me with the cane.

In fact, much to my surprise, he tends to me like a doctor would tend to a patient, and he's as precise as one too—and again, he seems to understand my silent questioning.

"I studied medicine back in Wutai," he explains as he keeps his attention on what he's doing and continues to keep any sign of emotion from his hardened exterior.

Then he tosses the bullet into the can by his toilet with a much expected accuracy and wipes at the pinkish-clear chemicals that run from my wounds with the towel while he changes the subject when I ask him, "What made you join the Turks?"

"I'm one closer to being even with you, Vince."

"Vincent," I mutter through clenched teeth while I look down at the faintly stained towel on my lap. When he notices that I don't understand what he's talking about and completely ignores my correction, he smirks and clarifies, "I saved your life this time."

"You're the one that shot me," I remind him, letting him know that I hardly call that even.

"If I didn't, your death would have been guaranteed by the others and I would have had more questions to answer to than I care to deal with," he answers, factually, before he places his gloved hands against my cheeks and tilts my head toward his hard and unfeeling expression, "If you think I was hard on you, than you have no idea what Reno would have done to you if it was him that went into that barn."

"Is that your attempt at justifying yourself?" I ask him, sarcastically as I try to turn my head away since some of my ability to move is returning.

But he holds me still, with ease.

"I don't recall telling you to follow me."

His answer comes out hollow, matching the look in his eyes before he adds, "In fact, I recall telling you to do the exact opposite."

Then he leans closer and stares blankly into my eyes and lowers his voice to an almost threatening tone, "Don't make me have to clean up an unnecessary mess," before he pats me on the cheek and mutters out, "Angel Whisper," to heal all my wounds and any status abnormalities quicker than I can on my own.

After that, he stands and removes his gloves while informing me that he has an important meeting to attend to. Then he straightens out his uniform and nods at the cuffs around my wrists while telling me that he'd like me to stay put and remain quiet until he returns.

"I don't want any suspicious attention drawn to my home," he tells me as he walks out and turns the light off before closing the door behind him, leaving me with nothing but a small stream of light peering from behind a solid and heavy blind that's covering the small window above the toilet.

All the while, I'm beginning to wonder if this is the penance I've been asking for and whether or not it's too late to see if I can find a way to get out of it.

* * *

He must have been gone for over a couple of hours—exactly how many, I don't know. It could have been more than three or more, and not once did I bother to move to make myself more comfortable or even try to get out of my restraints. I spent over thirty years feeling like I was starving from a stomach that no longer required food. Though it always feels like it does. And I spent them in a small and windowless dungeon where I slept in the broken coffins that were left behind—once used to accommodate Hojo's failed experiments.

Where I am now seems like a small price to pay in comparison, and even though it would be easy for me to dismiss it as wishful thinking, a part of me suspects that he's doing his best to return as soon as he can. I just don't think I'm the reason even though I know that the reason I'm here is enough to make him want to hurry.

When he finally does make his appearance, he flicks the light on with a merciless speed that gives me no humane time to allow my eyes to adjust, and I wind up squeezing them shut and burying my face into my upper arm for a small amount of relief.

"It stinks in here," he states, before he looks me up and down and purses his lips when he realizes the smell is coming from the dual horn dung on the back of my cloak and the ends of my hair.

Then he lets out a deep breath and turns on the shower, testing the water frequently until it's at a temperature that suits his satisfaction before he opens the small window just enough to ventilate the room and comes over to me with the key to the cuffs in his hand.

"You'll sleep in my bed tonight," he tells me while keeping his voice low so no one outside can hear him as he leans over me and undoes the cuffs, causing the lavender and his cologne to lighten my mood slightly. And I unconsciously breathe it in a little more obviously than I probably should have.

"Don't do that."

I'd apologize to let him know I'm sorry. But there's something about him that causes me to not want to admit it to him, and instead, I ask him in a more respectful tone than the one he's carrying, "Where will you sleep?"

"On the sofa," he answers, without hesitation as if he's already given it enough thought.

Then he pulls me to my feet and points at the bottles on the edge of the tub.

"There's shampoo, hair conditioner, and soap—Use them all."

After that, he starts to unbuckle my cloak with a slight look of disgust.

"I can't have you sleeping on the sofa," I tell him as he acts like he's not listening to me and pulls my cloak off while holding it away from him.

"And I can't have you leaving," he replies, as he steps over to his washing machine and turns it on while still refusing to look at me.

"After your _conspicuous_ arrival, and the fact that I've informed the others about the possibility of ex-_Turks_ trying to assassinate us all, I'm afraid that I'd be putting you at risk if I were to let you leave."

Then he grabs a towel and continues to behave as if he's not really speaking to anyone in particular while roughly pushing it into my arms.

"Personally, I would like you to leave right away. But given the fact that everyone is on the alert right now, I'm afraid you're going to have to stay here until I decide it's safe for you to do otherwise."

"I'll sleep on the couch," I tell him without telling him my reason, or even admitting it to myself that I might be concerned about how uncomfortable he would be as I turn my back to him and start to undo the buckles on my shirt.

"Don't assume that you have a say in anything here, Vince," he tells me with a warning undertone as he walks out and I grit my teeth over how much he's pissing me off by continuously calling me that.

But I do and say nothing about it. Instead, I remove my clothes and do as he demanded, even though the temptation to do the exact opposite is more than tempting.

* * *

When I'm done, I step out of the shower and stand there for a moment, dripping wet and staring at the clean clothes sitting on the seat of the toilet, realizing that he must have come back in while I was in the shower since my clothes are nowhere to be seen. At this point, I'd be lying if I said the urge to walk out there naked, just to spite him, wasn't an appealing one.

But I'd like to think that I've grown beyond childish behaviours such as that. So I don't.

Instead, I put the clothes he wants me to wear on, and I make a special effort to keep my hair from dripping on the expensive and heavy silk that the shirt is made of. Then I grit my teeth and almost falter, suddenly dreading whatever other type of subtle insult or dig toward my appearance or way of life he's going to have laid out for me when I open the door.

He surprises me again though, mostly from the more relaxed atmosphere he's exhibiting as he sets the table while the smell of something cooking has overpowered his small home.

"I felt inspired to make a stew," he comments as he places the silverware in a meticulous pattern, "Something about your appearance reminds me of the Northerners that used to live near the Forgotten Capital—Of course, I don't have ready access to any Bandersnatches in this region. So, chocobo and dual horn meat will have to do."

I don't say it because I'm tired of him being right and I'm also agitated by his snide tone when he mentions bandersnatches, suggesting that I'm nothing more than a mongrel. But my ancestors are from that region and I simply nod while commenting that, "I didn't know you cooked."

"I've lived on my own for several years," he informs me as he does his best to avoid me while he adds, "I'm not used to cooking for more than one person. So I can only hope this will be enough."

Then he adds with a mild snicker as he turns away and walks over to a small pantry, "I'm not really sure why I'm putting so much effort into it though. I'm well-aware that you don't really need to eat."

After that, he grabs a bottle of red wine and then turns to regard me with an out-of-character curiosity.

"But you do get hungry, don't you?"

I only nod, letting him know that my body functions just like anybody else's, and it suffers just the same. But he's right about me not having the needs—just the empty desires.

"Hm," he mutters as he looks at the bottle without much hint to what he's thinking, "I can only imagine what it must be like."

Then he smirks and places the bottle on the counter.

"I suppose that's as far as I'd want to go with it though. Do you drink?"

Knowing he's referring to the wine, I simply lower my head and mumble, "Not since I was a Turk."

I can tell he understands what I mean as he taps his fingers on the neck of the bottle, causing me to guess that he's debating on whether he should open it or not. And I can't help but wonder how long it's been since he's had a drink since he doesn't strike me as the type. Not to mention, in all the time I've been watching him, he hasn't had a single drop.

"It hasn't been that long for me," he reflects before he subtly shakes his head and opens the bottle anyway, "But I suppose a small amount won't hurt."

Then he places the cork on the counter and leaves it while he walks over to me and stares at the ends of my hair, making me believe that he'll pay attention to anything he can if it will help him to avoid acknowledging me.

After that, he states that my ends are tangled as if he wants to change the subject and walks into the bathroom, leaving me there to stare at the bottle that looks like he's had it sitting in his cupboard for at least a decade, or more.


	2. A Drink, A Close, and A Redhead

**A Drink, A Closet, and a Redhead**

* * *

"You were an alcoholic," I conclude when he walks back out with a comb in his hand and motions for me to sit.

Then he runs his fingers through the back of my damp hair to smooth it out and starts combing it with a gentle touch, despite all the knots I never bother to tend to.

"I went through a spell," he admits while he works on the ends and carefully moves his way up as if he weren't touching me. Then he tells me, almost like he's not sure why he's saying it, "It was before I got my promotion. President Shinra nearly fired me."

"Why didn't he?"

"Rufus…" Tseng hesitantly starts as his voice grows slightly distant. "Didn't want to see me leave. So he did his best to help me get back on my feet."

"Rufus," I repeat, somewhat disbelieving that Rufus is capable of helping anyone but himself, and Tseng suddenly loses his touch and sharply pulls my hair when he encounters the next knot.

Then he quickly adds, "Reno helped too."

Taking the hint that he doesn't want to talk about whatever could have happened to drive him to drink, I wind up asking him no more questions while I silently work over the puzzle in my head. A part of me can't help but wonder if there's some sort of history between him and one of them, or maybe even both. But I'm not about to ask—considering it would be rude—especially when he's offering me more hospitality than I ever could have expected from him, even if it is slightly on the cold side.

But there's simply one question I can't avoid and it slips out without me really meaning to ask. However, there's a small hope that it might answer some of my unspoken questions.

"Have you always lived alone?"

"No," he answers as if he's not as offended as I thought he'd be. Then he answers my next question before I get the chance to ask, "I've had my share of failed relationships, and I have no desire to have anymore."

"So, you live an empty life," I conclude as I take a look around at his surroundings that lack any pictures or keepsakes, save for those of his mother and a few of the Turks that seem mostly for the sake of appearance.

"Mm," he mutters in agreement as he starts combing my hair more confidently, suggesting he's gotten all the knots out, "Much like yours."

"Is that why you sought me out?"

For a moment he falls silent and taps the comb on the palm of his hand before he walks away to put it back where he got it from, leaving me to wonder what I've done wrong and why he keeps avoiding the question. Then he walks out and leans against the frame of the door, while I sit with my back to him.

"Not quite," he says, confusing me about what he's referring to before he walks over to one of his cupboards and pulls out two wine glasses.

"I suppose," he mutters before he shakes his head and decides against what he was going to say as he pours the wine and grabs a chocolate from a box that's sitting on the counter, "I'm not really sure why I sought you out, Vince."

"Vincent."

"Vince," he mutters as he turns his attention to the floor and bites the chocolate in half before he puts the rest of it in his mouth and turns to grab the glasses. Then he lets me in on one of his strange quirks, even though he sounds more like he's talking to himself instead of to me.

"I never cared for sugar, or anything sweet," he admits, and ignores the fact that I've turned my full attention to him as he comes to the table and sets both glasses down—one in front of me—suggesting that he wants me to drink with him, "But after I awoke from a frightening nightmare, I've had this insatiable hunger for it."

"Nightmare?" I reflect, suddenly realizing that he's talking about the time Sephiroth stabbed him at the Temple of the Ancients, leaving us all to believe that he was dead.

"I've never known anyone," he says before he pauses long enough to take a drink while he searches for the right words. But I think I know what he's getting at, and I start to think that he might have been dead long enough to pass over. And with a strange discomfort, I spare him the burden of having to say it.

"That's been to the other side."

"It was dark," he tells me before he falls quiet and stares at the table while I find myself unable to tear my eyes from him, knowing exactly what he's talking about and knowing that he's wondering if he's not the only one to experience the terrifying emptiness that was nothing like the stories of the Lifestream we all grew up with.

I believed it was a place for sinners. Though I never spoke of it and I find myself still having no desire to verify it for him, considering I was no more innocent than he probably is even though I like to deny that I was ever as low as him. But when it gets to the bottom of it, I realize that I don't really want to tell him about my conclusions and I find myself falling as silent as he's fallen.

We sit there for a while, not saying a word, and I find myself giving in and taking a sip of the aged wine he's placed in front of me before he states, "Dinner should be ready," and gets up to check on it. All the while, he still refuses to look at me.

Then, when he stirs it around and takes a small taste, he nods as if he thinks it's good enough to serve and states, "I was thankful that I didn't have to go back the second time," making me realize that he really was genuine when he sought me out, or so I'm letting myself believe.

But it still doesn't stop me from asking as he turns the burner off, "Why did you go back to the Turks?" Especially if he came to the same conclusion as I did.

"It's all I've ever known," he answers before he waves me over and points at the plate in front of me to remind me to bring it. Then he quietly adds, "I'm afraid I don't have the resolve or dedication that you possess when it comes to changing my ways."

"And you'd like to believe that Rufus is genuine about his claim to change his," I add, figuring that his claim is also part of the reason whether he really believes it or not.

But he admits that, "It doesn't really matter."

Then he places a small amount on my plate and tells me that he doesn't know if I'll like it, not that I'm really sure why he's concerned about it. Then again, I'm not really sure why the only thing I want to do right now is set my plate on the counter and grab him so I can do the same thing to him that I did when he was in my room.

I don't though. Instead, I look at the plate in an attempt to take my mind away from him, and then I walk back to the table and take a larger drink of the wine than I did the first time while hoping for the first time in over thirty years that I'll fall victim to a drunkenness that will take all my memories away as I fall further into a world full of temptation that he seems to be awakening within me. And I don't bother to ask myself why, since I highly suspect that I already know the reason.

I just don't want to admit to it.

* * *

Much to my surprise, Tseng is a fine cook. Although I don't really know why I'm surprised. He's been good at everything else he's done so far, except for when it comes to conversation and opening up. But then again, I'm not the best person to try and have a conversation with. Not to mention that after having only one and a half glasses of wine, I'm feeling stranger than I probably should be. I can't help but assume it's because it's been so long since I've had something like this in my system and I'm turning even more closed than I was as a result.

And the fact that every time I look over at him, I want to throw him onto the table and show him how much I want to share myself with him isn't helping. Nor is his reluctance to look at me, and I'm beginning to think that it's the reason I'm wanting him.

But so far, I'm doing a good job of not letting him know what kind of nonsense is going through my head. Either that, or he's doing a good job at ignoring it.

And for some reason, I don't doubt the latter as I get up when he gets up and I decide to help him with the dishes. From everything I've figured about him so far, he's an obstinate man who won't admit his own feelings to himself, even though I'm beginning to think that he does feel something due to the simple fact that he relentlessly refuses to look at me.

He's an asshole, I tell myself while trying to stop myself from being driven crazy by him, and I find myself standing a little closer than I should be, and I find myself moving a little slower than I should be just so I can prolong being close to him.

That is until he pushes me back to let me know that he knows what's going through my scrambled head and reminds me that I'm not attracted to men and that he's not an idiot, even if I'm wishing that he was.

And then I blurt out with a slight slur while surprising myself by the amount of control I have in my tone, even though the question is completely inappropriate, "So, how many men have broken your fictitious heart?"

After that, I lean into him and maliciously purr, "From the way you behave, you've obviously experienced your fair share."

I suppose the smack across my face was called for, even though I'm sure it would have stung a bit more if it wasn't for the wine. Then he angrily throws the dish towel at me while telling me that I can finish cleaning up on my own before he walks into his room and slams the door.

But like hell if I'm going to apologize to him, and I take another drink from the glass that better judgement would have told me to dump. Then I grip my hand around it in an attempt to gain some self-control, knowing that a familiar darkness is overtaking me and I ignore the subtle shattering sound as he comes back out and states that, "You're all the same."

Whatever the hell he's talking about, I don't know. All I really do know is that it would be in his best interest to turn around and probably even lock his bedroom door to keep me out.

I should have known better than to accept him—his hospitality—and to follow him like I did…

All I really want to do right now is spare him from knowing my own reasons for not wanting to get close to anyone. But all he notices is the broken shards of glass sticking out of my hand and he chooses to come to my aid. Like an insect to a well laid trap, he regrets it the moment he realizes that I'm not exactly me right now and grunts from the grip I've got him in.

"Chaos," he mutters before his eyes roll back from the force that I've slammed him into the wall with.

His hair sticks to the wall as he slides down and it mingles with small streaks of blood that have suddenly gotten my attention while I tilt my head and stare at it for a moment. That is, until I realize it's his blood, and I suddenly gain full control of myself before I pull him forward to find out what I've done and how.

I must have slammed him into the old-style key hooks that were hanging there. The fact that his blood is on them doesn't really leave me with much room to doubt it, and I curse at myself as my hand covers the back of his head as if it will stop him from bleeding. Then I pick him up while I search for where he put his gloves, remembering that he had different kinds of healing materia in them.

"Stay with me, Tseng," I lowly growl when I find them and lay him on the floor by his bed. Then I put them on as quickly as I can and I mutter out, "Cure2," in hopes that he still has the restore materia in them that I was sure he carried on the first day I met him.

All the while, I'm checking for his pulse and praying that I don't lose it before he takes a deep and laboured breath and opens his unfocused eyes.

And the first thing that the miserable son of a bitch says to me is, "What the hell are you doing with my gloves on?"

He doesn't even ask me what happened and I'm so tempted to smack him right back to where he was only a moment ago over it.

"I had a better idea of where your gloves were than wherever you put my stuff," I tell him as he tries to get up and I quickly place my arm across his back to help support him.

"Your stuff belongs in the garbage," he mutters. Then he rubs at the back of his head and pushes me away, making it obvious that he doesn't want my help when he tries to stand.

"Take them off," he orders as he blindly waves his hand at mine and starts to stumble toward the small bathroom and grabs the frame of the door to support himself, "I never gave you permission to wear them or to even go so far as to use the Restore materia in them."

I know I shouldn't have expected any other kind of behaviour from him, and maybe a part of me deserves it, considering I'm the one at fault for his pounding headache. But like hell if I'm going to forget that he's the one that shot me earlier, and like hell if I'm going to admit that I probably deserved that too.

Actually, I don't really know what I'm thinking as I grit my teeth and watch him stumble over to his medicine cabinet to grab a small potion for his head and I find myself sneering at him as I angrily remove his gloves and throw them on his bed. And when I turn around, he's standing in the doorway and tapping on the empty bottle he just drank from while staring at me with enough belittlement in his eyes that he doesn't even need to say a word to let me know what he's thinking.

But he does.

And when he does, I come to the conclusion that there is no end to his arrogance and I wonder why the hell I can't stay away from him.

"Remind me not to let you drink anymore, Vince. You obviously can't handle it."

"Vincent."

"Vince," he repeats again, as if he's getting some sort of satisfaction out of it. Then he walks back into the bathroom and closes the door and locks it while I stand there and stare at it.

I'm not really sure what's going through my head right now, or if there's anything going through it at all. All I really do know is that there's some sort of pent-up energy swirling around in my gut that's causing me to react on nothing but instinct, and it's against all my better senses of judgement as I hear him run the water for the bath I'm assuming he's decided to take and I kick the door down.

Immediately, he reacts by grabbing the collar of his shirt that he nearly undid to hold it closed, and something else that's sharp is thrown at me. His accuracy is frightening and he manages to slice a lock of my hair off. But I anticipate it enough to safely dodge it and I grab him quickly—as it hisses passed my ear from the speed—to keep him from trying anything else while he sneers at me.

"If I'd known you were going to be a violent drunk, I never would have offered you that drink," he states as he tries to struggle out of my grip, which turns out to be counteractive and he winds up more secure in my arms.

"You would have given it to me anyway." I accuse, half-believing that he's twisted enough to want to see how far away from myself he can drag me.

He's about to say something else before I think we both cringe at the sound of someone pounding on his front door, and Reno's muffled voice asks, "Hey. Everythin okay?"

"Fuck," Tseng mutters, surprising me a little since it's the first time I've heard him swear. Then he pushes me back and says under his breath, "He's not going to go away until I let him in."

After that, he pulls the knife that he threw at me out of the broken doorframe and grabs my wrist to roughly place the tuft of hair he never would have gotten under normal circumstances into my hand. Then he grabs the arm of my shirt and drags me over to his bedroom closet and pushes me in.

"Don't. Even. Breathe," he warns under his breath through the horizontal venting of the doors and points at me to get his message across. Then he takes a deep breath and quickly does his buttons back up and straightens his clothes as he hurriedly kicks the small rug with his blood on it under his bed and walks to the front door to let the redhead in.

But he stops for a moment and notices the broken glass on his counter and the blood on the wall before he mutters something in Wutian that isn't very flattering and geared towards me, and calls out, "I'll be right there!"

Then he quickly grabs the rag from the side of the sink that's still filled with soapy water and quickly wipes the wall and the hooks down before he brushes the broken glass into the water and tosses the rag in afterwards in a haphazard attempt to avoid having to answer for any of it.

* * *

When he opens the door, he bows to the man and greets him like I would have expected him to.

"Reno," he says, respectively, and then he steps out of the way to let him in.

"Thought I heard somethin," Reno says as he walks by him and carefully looks around as if he's looking for anything that might be out of place, "Like a crash… Thought ya might be havin a bit'a trouble…"

"I can take care of myself," Tseng answers in his typically hollow and professional-sounding tone as the redhead stops beside him and taps his EMR on his own shoulder. Then he turns his head and looks Tseng up and down before he settles on his superiors face and narrows his sickly eyes.

"Ya been drinkin?"

"I had a glass," Tseng admits.

"Hm," Reno mumbles before he leans a little closer to take a more intimidating look at the man, even though Tseng remains stone-faced and unaffected by the accusing study he's facing.

"We ain't gonna go back there again. Are we?"

"No."

"Good," Reno answers before he sets his eyes on the near-empty bottle and taps his shoulder again with his EMR while narrowing his eyes again.

"One glass, huh?" he observes before he walks up to the bottle and swirls what's left of it around and chuckles as he walks over to the sink and dumps the thimble full that's left, "Must'a been one helluva glass, Tseng. Ya mind if I see it?"

"Yes."

"Somethin botherin ya?"

"No."

"Ya sure?" Reno asks before he turns around and leans against the counter. Then he waves his EMR at all the closed drapes and looks at the soapy suds still running down Tseng's wall before he raises his brow and comments, "Ya've been actin kinda _strange_… Fer a while now."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really? Ya've been through a lot, Man," Reno observes before he places his hand in his pocket and steps away from the counter, "An ya haven't really spoken ta anyone since ya showed up on the doorstep at Healin, 'bout what happened."

Then he walks over to the doorway to Tseng's bedroom and sets his eyes on the broken frame of the bathroom door.

"Like, I mean, we all saw ya die, Man…"

For a moment, Tseng's eyes fall darker as he stares at the back of Reno's head and places his hand in his pocket to mindlessly fiddle with whatever he has in it while he hollowly asks, "Why are you asking me about that now?"

"Heh," Reno snorts as he settles his eyes on the closet door I'm behind and tilts his head as he studies it, "Ya sayin it ain't a good time?"

Then he taps his EMR again as the corner of his mouth turns upward and he walks over to the broken frame of the bathroom while musing, "Then again, is there ever a good time ta ask a man 'bout how he cheated death? 'Specially after a whole fuckin temple crumbled down on top of 'im afterwards'n disappeared?"

"Is that why you wanted to check up on me?" Tseng asks as his eyes grow narrow in suspicion and the redhead leans into the bathroom and taps his EMR on the spot where Tseng lodged his knife.

"Nah," He mutters as he pulls out a black hair and runs his fingers along it as if he's comparing it to Tseng's texture, "Jus shootin the shit. Ya know? Passin time while I make sure yer all right."

Then he lets out that dark sounding chuckle of his as he drops the hair to the floor and turns to Tseng's direction with a half toothy grin and asks as he points his EMR at the broken frame, "So… Ya gonna tell me what happened?"

"I locked myself out," he answers, dryly, as he continues to stand where he's been the entire time and finally takes his hand out of his pocket while Reno watches him and nods with a serious look on his face.

"I'm worried about ya, Man," He admits in a softer tone before he glances once more at the closet door and then warily looks back at the broken frame and walks over to him, "We all are."

"Don't be."

"That's what ya said the last time," the redhead points out with a slightly compassionate crackle to his tone before he walks back into the room Tseng's standing in and looks at the water running down the wall again, "An the time before that…"

"This isn't the same," Tseng mutters as his darkening eyes fall to the floor and he straightens up to maintain his composure in a manner that suggests he'd like to erase whatever's suddenly bothering him. And I can't help but wonder if I'm going to get a glimpse of whatever they're saying to each other even though neither of them are coming out and saying it.

But as if the redhead knows what's going through Tseng's head, he nods like he'd like to say he's sorry about something and walks passed him while stating, "Don't shut us out again, Man," before he honours Tseng's silent request to leave and walks toward the door while warning him, "'Cuz I ain't gonna ignore any of the signs this time."

* * *

All the while, I'm wondering what they're talking about and I'm wondering why Tseng suddenly has that forlorn look in his eyes again as he continues to stare at the floor and puts his hand back into his pocket to mindlessly toy with that silver object of his again.

Then he rubs at his eyes and shakes his head like he's trying to clear it out before he acts like nothing just happened and storms over to the closet to yank me forward by the front of the shirt.

"What the hell are you trying to do to me?" he demands in a lowered voice that's suddenly conscious about being overheard, but angry just the same.

And whether it's from the alcohol or one of the other mindless drawbacks that I suffer from, I completely ignore his question and feel drawn to the sudden anger he's showing again. So I grab him by the back of his head and smash my mouth against his before I'm rewarded with another stinging slap from him and am violently pushed back.

"Something is wrong with you," he states before he points at the bed and tells me to, "Sit—And _don't_ move."

Then he goes over to his dresser and grabs his nightclothes before he decides to clean himself up in the other bathroom while commenting that we were both lucky Reno didn't see the blood in his hair. Of course, I don't bother to mention that it was on the back of his shirt too, even though I'm sure he'll notice it the moment he takes it off.


	3. Looking Out from the Inside

**Looking Out from the Inside**

* * *

When he's finished cleaning himself up, he seems much calmer and walks into the room to see me sitting exactly where he told me to. He even seems a little surprised that I never bothered to move. But he ignores me other than that and he grabs his pillow from the bed and points at the other one and states that I'm welcome to use it before he starts to walk out.

Nothing registers at first—not until I suddenly shake my head and wonder why I'm letting him talk to me like I'm one of his subordinates. And he gets as far as a foot into the other room before I find myself grabbing him from behind and placing my hand over his mouth as I threateningly growl into his ear, "You're not sleeping out here."

Then I mindlessly brush my mouth against his ear without meaning to, even though I think I do.

And the moment I take my hand away, he retorts by telling me in a hushed voice that makes him sound like he's hissing, "You don't give the orders in my home," while I proceed to push him into his room and he makes every effort to make it difficult. And when I get him near the door, his legs fly up and he presses his feet to the wall on both sides to carry out his assumptive protest as he voices it.

"I'm not sleeping with you, Vince."

"Vincent," I remind him, again, and then in hopes of getting him to give up on his stubborn streak while I try to keep him from falling due to the awkward position he's managed to put us both in, I genuinely tell him I'm not expecting him to.

"Then what do you want?" he demands as he squirms in my enhanced grip and walks slightly up the wall to reposition his body for a better edge.

"I don't want you sleeping on the couch."

"Keep your voice down," he reminds me before he gives up on struggling and runs up the wall so he can successfully flip over me. Then he snickers when he lands on the floor like a cat, and he stays like that while he stares up at me with a small fire in his eyes and maliciously lowers his voice, "You've already caused me enough trouble."

If only I had my gun right now, I would be aiming it at him, given the untrustworthy and almost predatory look he's suddenly exhibiting. But since I don't, I find myself kneeling down to his level with an uncontrollable sneer on my face and lowly accusing him, "You're getting off on this, aren't you?"

Degrading me like he does, I think, as I finish the rest of the thought off in my head instead of giving him the satisfaction of hearing me say it.

He turns completely serious at that and smacks me across the face again like I've done something to offend him before he tells me, "Give it up."

Then he grabs his pillow and pries my hand from his shirt that I didn't realize I was using to pull him toward me and starts to head toward the sofa while arrogantly stating, "You're not my type," suggesting that he thinks there's only one thing on my mind.

"What is your type, Tseng?" I ask him, as if I really am curious while I rub at my cheek and watch him stubbornly lay out the sheets he must have grabbed before he came back into his room and I accusingly suggest as if it bothers me, "Reno?"

Then I lower my voice and take it a step further out of nothing more than pure vindictiveness over nothing, "Or maybe you prefer them younger, Like Rufus…"

"Rufus," he mutters as he quirks his brow, snorts, sneers, snickers, and shakes his head before fluffing his pillow like he can't seem to get it to his liking.

Then he leans into the couch and rests his knees on it while placing his hands on the back so he can regard me over it. And I don't doubt for a second that he knows he's leaving me with more questions than I thought he would, and I also don't doubt that it's the reason he just leaves it at that without elaborating on what the hell his mixture of thoughts were pertaining to.

"As far as Reno goes, no one knows what the hell his preferences are."

Then he waves his hand at nothing and mutters, "Or if he has any at all."

"No one," I repeat, wondering how that's even possible since they've all worked together for so long while feeling kind of angry over something as well. But I'm not sure what it is.

"No one's ever seen him with anyone, not even his best friend, Rude," he admits while he shrugs and turns around to sit, "He's always talking about women, and he'll flirt with anyone or more accurately, everyone. But he dates no one."

Then he smiles, almost perversely and provokingly states as I walk around and stand in front of him.

"I'll admit that I find him flattering and easy on the eyes, Vince. I'd have to be blind and dead from the waist down if I didn't."

After that, he turns his attention to my hands that are unconsciously tense over something and tilts his head as he studies them. Then he snickers and shakes his head again before he looks up at me and turns completely serious as a dead wash literally veils over him, "I'm not what you want, Vince."

"How would you know what I want?" I ask even though I have no idea why I say it as he pushes himself up and walks over to pull the drain out of the sink.

And I can't help but notice that he walks passed me like I'm not even here while I silently grit my jaw over it.

"I don't know what I did to make you so obsessive over me. But I can guarantee you that you don't want to be with someone like me, even if you did swing my way."

"Why?" I ask, completely oblivious to why I ask that instead of denying that he's accusing me of wanting him or having feelings that I know I shouldn't be having for him.

"Besides the fact that I could write you a twenty page essay full of reasons to stay away from me—and that would only cover a fraction—allow me to tailor it for you by giving you one reason that should be more than enough for someone like you," he starts before he pauses for a moment and scrapes the broken glass out of his sink with the rag.

"Someone like me…"

"I'm a firm believer in equality."

With a light snicker at the confusion he's sensing from me, he turns around and tilts his head before he clarifies that he's not exactly the submissive type, or at the very least, not all the time.

"Personally, I don't see why I should be the only one to bend over in a relationship, if you catch my drift."

And for some unknown reason, I consider what he's saying when it sinks in and I stand there for a moment and wonder if I could go that far. The moment passes quickly though, and I decide to help him clean out his sink while I come to the conclusion and admit it to him, "I can't do that."

"I know," he says while he focuses on his sink and wipes it down with the rag that's taken on a pinkish tinge from when he wiped his blood off the wall, "Which is why I'm not idiot enough to kid myself with you, Vince."

"What makes you think you'd be kidding yourself?"

"Because I'm not stupid," he tells me as he turns to run his eyes over me and steps back to put more distance between us.

"You're addicted to me because I'm the first person you've been with in over thirty years, and you're confusing yourself by thinking it's because you're attracted to me when it's only because you've been building up by denying yourself for so long. Although, I have to admit that I have no idea why you decided to chase after me when, as rumour has it, that little Wutian girl you sometimes hang around is crazy about you. And you'd probably stand a better chance with her in more than one way."

"Yuffi," I tell him, before I walk over to the sofa and grab his pillow to return it to his room. All the while, I'm feeling angered over the fact that he thinks he knows me better than I do.

"What's that?"

"Her name," I answer. Then I come over to him and pull him by the arm, more coaxingly this time, in hopes that I'll have better success in getting him into his own bed since I'm still not willing to let him win on every account.

"I honestly can't have you sleeping on the sofa," he finally tells me, sounding more human about it than he did before as if he has a valid reason that he just didn't want to tell me about before.

"Why?"

"Because someone might see you when I come and go. Our hours are peculiar and the sofa's near the door. And if I move it out of the way, Reno will be even more suspicious than he already is due to all of the other bizarre things he's already pointed out."

Realizing that it's probably the most effort he's put into explaining anything since the day I first met him, I suddenly find myself stopping us both under the frame to his room and turning to stare at his front door.

"Why didn't you just say that in the first place?" I ask, somewhat frustrated by the way he chose to fight about it instead.

"Because I don't see why I should have to explain myself to you."

"I'm not one of your Turks," I tell him as I give him a quick and agitated push into his room and watch him stumble with a mild satisfaction. Then I sit him on his bed and hold him down by keeping my hand over his shoulder, "I don't follow orders without a reason."

"You never asked for one."

"I shouldn't have to," I inform him before I kneel in front of him and go for the buttons on his nightshirt, and when he quickly grabs me by the wrists to stop me and my sleeve pulls back, he suddenly falters and stares at the circular scars on the underside of my forearm.

"It's where Hojo injected the Lifestream," I tell him, along with a few other things I care not to talk about. And after a short nod, he curiously looks at the chain around my neck before he pushes my sleeve farther up and stares at the long scars on the other side while I ignore his silent questions and ask him to, "Trust me," and I start for his buttons again.

He almost acts like he doesn't hear me and he undoes the buttons on my shirt as well so he can push the shoulder down on my other arm, where he shot me, and he notes that the bullet wound has completely healed with no marks left before he returns his attention to my arm. I know what he's doing as he silently takes note that I no longer scar anymore, and even though it bothers me, I let him do it—knowing that he's almost envying something that I view as a curse.

"I'm surprised I didn't notice this when…"

"You were focused on other priorities," I remind him in a quiet and distant tone while trying to spare him from having to bring up the fact that I took advantage of him since he's referring to that morning, and I start to pull his shirt off while he tenses and quickly grabs it to stop me.

"I'm not comfortable with…"

"I know," I tell him as I cut him off and manage to get him to reluctantly cooperate. Then I decide to use his own and questionably kind tactics that he used on me when he took me to Wutai while I position myself behind him and tell him to relax.

"I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to do."

After that, I run two of my fingers down the outline of his spine while minding the pressure to release the fluid that's built up from his neglect. And I keep my other hand on his shoulder to reduce the shock of contact.

During that, I pay close attention to his reaction since I'm sure he's not going to tell me if I hit a tender spot, or even if it feels good. Then I lean slightly forward with a bit of a frown over how misaligned his muscles are and I tell him, "I just want to return a favour."

I know he thinks I'm probably doing this in hopes that I can find another way to seduce him. But the truth is, like he'd asked me in Wutai, I'm beginning to wonder when the last time he took care of himself was, beyond that of personal grooming. And at the moment, the only thing I'm focusing on is trying to see if I can help him get a better night's sleep by trying to loosen his back enough to give him some sort of relief.

"Leviathan," he mutters, almost like he didn't mean to say it out loud when I take special care around the areas that require more attention and he surprises me by admitting that it feels good. Or as he literally puts it while closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, "It's been so long since someone's done that."

"Why don't you lie down then," I coax, and I find myself almost wanting to smile at the fact that he can be tamed when he surprises me again and does it, as well as the fact that he turns onto his stomach so I can continue with greater ease.

* * *

As stubborn as he is, he went for my suggestion that we should both sleep in the bed since neither of us would allow the other to sleep on the couch. Of course, he had terms and insisted that I don't cross the imaginary line he laid out before he'd go for it.

Or as he put it:

"If you so far as touch me, I'll shoot you without thinking twice about it."

He was yawning and unusually relaxed when he said it though. But I took him seriously—if not the actual threat—knowing that his reasons for trying to push me away are probably more valid than I care to admit to. He still curled up though, and he still grabbed onto the bed for support and grimaced every time he wanted to move. But he did seem a little more comfortable and I have to admit that I wasn't expecting any miracles to happen overnight.

Though I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping.

* * *

When I wake up in the morning, he's already gone, not that I'm surprised by it and I decide I'll do as he ordered and keep my presence unknown by not going near any of his drapes as I cautiously walk into his front room where there's a note sitting on the small table in his kitchen. Half-expecting to find a list of things he'll want me to do to earn my keep, I walk over to it and pick it up before I read it with mixed feelings.

_I know it was pointless. _

It reads,

_But I made you breakfast, even if you don't require it. It's in the oven keeping _

_warm. _

_Whether you want it or not, make sure you turn the oven off. There's tea in the _

_cupboard near the cooling unit if you want something warm to drink. But use a _

_pot and not my kettle to boil the water. _

_It whistles and I don't want you drawing any more attention to me._

_ — Tseng_

With a deep breath, I lower my head as I fold it back over and feel like turning his oven up high enough to set fire to whatever he's got in there for being ignorant enough to suggest I need to be told to turn the damn thing off. But I don't.

I know he's just doing and saying things the only way he knows how, and I try to remind myself that I should be thankful that he went through the trouble to do everything he's done so far, even though I don't know why he's done it when I consider that he acts like he thinks I'm some kind of mongrel that's trying to ruin his life.

It's pointless to stew over it though. So I walk over to his oven and open it, half-expecting it to explode and half-expecting there to be nothing, and I wind up staring at the plate with even more confusion. Why I'm suddenly wishing he was a prick enough to do one or both of the things I was expecting, or maybe even hoping for, I don't know.

And why I'm so bothered by what he's made is beyond me. It's nothing offensive or even degrading about what kind of person he thinks I am. Instead, it's something that looks like he put effort into it and I can't help but wonder why as I pull the plate out with bare hands and stare at the omelette with what looks like smoked boundfat and fresh vegetables sprinkled with a light seasoning.

I can't help but think he was inspired by the Forgotten Capital again, like he was with dinner since I'm well-aware there's a good number of boundfats running wild in the Forgotten City, and I also can't help but be reminded of the barbaric reputation my ancestors have as well. Whether he's making a dig at me or being genuinely inspired is unknown though.

All I can do is shake my head and lower it as I catch myself wanting to smile again without knowing why, and I grab a piece with my fingers to taste it. Then I catch myself nodding at the fact that it's something I could eat more of before I fill a pot with water like he suggested, figuring it wouldn't hurt to have something to wash it down with while wondering why I'm putting just as much effort into it as him.

When I'm done, I quietly wash the dishes I used and put everything where it looks like it's supposed to go. Then I go into his room and pull his rug out from under his bed and I frown while wondering if I can get the stains from his blood out.

Luckily, he has enough solutions in a cupboard near his washing machine that has my clothes neatly folded and mended on top. He even went so far as to sew the cut he made in my pants back up, and despite that, I suddenly wonder how many times he's had to wash blood from his belongings before. I suppose it's a trivial question though, since I know what he does for a living even though it doesn't sit well. But I brush it off, and when I find something that looks suitable, I take it back to his room and start scrubbing with a surprising ease.

And again, I don't know why I'm doing anything at all for him and convince myself that it's to fight off boredom, even though I know it would be just as easy for me to sleep all day. But then again, if I wasn't doing this, I wouldn't have noticed the shoe-boxes under his bed that catch my attention when I'm done.

I know I shouldn't pull them out, and I know his privacy is none of my business. But unfortunately, my curiosity about him has the best of me and I find myself sitting on his bed and opening one to discover a lifetime of photos. Most of them are what I suspect to be past lovers, considering he's even in a few of them. And for some strange reason, I find myself relieved that I haven't come across any with Reno in them. Though I don't know why I'm looking for them or even suspecting there might be some, and I don't know why the thought bothers me either.

It comes to a point to where I convince myself that I shouldn't be doing this and I put the box back. Then I go to the laundry room to collect my clothes that he went through the trouble to wash and I put them back on since I'm more comfortable in them than I am in his clothes.

But before I do that, I find myself holding them and feeling nostalgic over the clean scent they have, considering I haven't done anything more than rinse them off or scrub them on a rock since the day I crawled into that coffin in Nibelheim. And again, I'm finding myself put off by the fact that he's probably sending me some kind of condescending message by going through the trouble to do it.

I can't help but frown over it before I change and go back into his room with mixed feelings again. And to make matters worse, and more confusing to myself, I'm reaching back under his bed to pull out another box while I hear what sounds like the four of them—the Turks—near the barn Reno nearly burnt down and they're yelling at someone.

Or to put it more accurately, the four of them sound more like they're demanding information and I conclude that they must have found someone they think has answers to Tseng's assumptions about the renegade Turks. And a part of me is torn for a moment as I walk to his window and move the drape just enough for me to get a hazy image of Tseng grabbing a severely beaten man by the collar and ramming his head into a trough full of water.

I tell myself it's not my business and that they're only doing what they're supposed to be doing as Tseng pulls the guy up for air and whispers something threatening into his ear while the other three stand by and watch.

Then he holds out his hand toward Reno and says, "Give me the rope."

His second-in-command wastes no time to hand him what he requests while chuckling darkly at their victim with a look that doesn't appear promising. And Tseng wastes no time while ordering Rude to hold the man in a position to tie the man's wrists to the heavy branch of the tree above the trough while he supports himself with both feet on either edge of the trough.

I almost don't want to know what they're going to do, and I want to question the reason Tseng has left the man's feet in the water less. But there's not much room for questions the moment Tseng nods over to Reno with a dark look in his eyes and Reno steps up to the water and hits the switch on his EMR.

All I can do is fight the urge to run out there and put a stop to it as the end of Reno's weapon mercilessly hits the water with an electric charge, and I step away so I don't have to watch anymore. But despite the fact that I've fallen to sit against the wall with my attention away from the window, I can still hear the screams and continuing demands, and I still can't find a justifiable reason for any of it to be happening.

I suppose it's my own fault since Tseng told me to stay away and I didn't listen for whatever reason. And I suppose it's not really my business, even though every sense of my being tells me that none of this is right. So in an attempt to try to take my mind from it, I find myself scanning his room for anything of meagre interest and set my attention back on the second shoebox.

At this point, anything will do, and I decide that looking at more pictures of a killer's past can't do that much harm. And I find a new sense of justification when I convince myself that he's not a wholesome creature and that no violation can come from digging through what he's left in the open anyway.

Of course, I brush the nagging reminder that it wasn't out in the open and that it wasn't his original intention to have me here either as I open the box to find myself at odds with more questions about him.

At the very top, there's a folded letter with a wedding ring sitting above it, and when I pick up the ring, there's an inscription that reads:

_Tseng and Marina Forever._

I can only stare at it in confusion as I turn it in my hand and note the delicate inscription in the plain gold with a small design that I don't recognize on the outside. About the best conclusion I can come up with is that it's his and that he was married, assuming that it belongs to him and not some other Tseng that it might have belonged to.

Figuring I'm not going to get much more information by doing nothing but stare at it with a dumfounded feeling, I place it on the bed beside me as if it's something that's both sacred and cursed, and I pick up the letter, wondering if I should read it or not. And again, I'm dumbfounded even before I read the note because directly under it is a wedding picture with him unmistakably dressed as the groom and what I can only assume is his bride, Marina, smiling and standing next to a wedding cake.

Almost as if I've opened the gates to a place that will condemn me, I'm tempted to simply put it all back and wipe its existence from my mind before I jump from the unexpected sound of a gun going off—one shot. Then Tseng orders the others to, "Dispose of him—We've gotten all we can."

And for a moment, I sit quietly and wait as if I'm expecting him to come barging through his door to bring hell upon me for looking at something I don't think I should be looking at. But instead, I hear him and Reno talking about something I can't make out, and then he calls Elena over and tells her he'd like her to do something for him.

Once I come to the conclusion that it's back to simple business between them all again, I find I'm unable to resist the urge any longer and I glance over at the window through a blackened veil, unable to see anything since it's covered so heavily, and I unfold the letter that reads:

_I saw you with him, you bastard… _

_You're a miserable son of a bitch for doing this to us…_

Most of it's vindictive and accusatory, written with a heavy pressure and an uneven consistency, suggesting the person was unstable and emotional when they wrote it, despite its obvious words. But for some reason, the last lines strike me, and I can't seem to pull my focus away from them while everything outside seems like it no longer exists.

_I'll make your life a living hell that will make you wish you were never born, and I'll start by taking the only thing that matters to you away…_

_Consider yourself to blame for what's happened to her._

—

If it wasn't for me overhearing Tseng saying he's famished and going to get some lunch, I might have been able to make more sense out of what the letter's about by digging through the rest of the box. And to make it even more confusing, I'm left wondering who 'her' is, or if it's just a mindless typo.

But as it is, I can already hear Tseng approaching and I have little time to put everything back the way I found it. Though I manage, and I decide to rush into the bathroom to wipe down the sink in hopes of making my position less conspicuous.


	4. The Trouble with Turks

**The Trouble with Turks**

* * *

He doesn't call my name when I hear him come through the front door. Instead, he goes to his main bathroom and washes his hands before he goes to his cooling unit and pulls out some ingredients to make his lunch. When I come out and lean against the frame of his bedroom door, he doesn't even turn around when he detachedly states, "I see you've found your clothes."

"I cleaned your rug," I tell him, figuring there's no point in answering to an obvious statement while he nods and mutters in an almost disapproving and thankless tone.

"I don't need you to tend to my belongings."

Then he snorts and places whatever he's done with back into the cooling unit and says, "Sit down," with his back to me.

Unable to stop myself from being cautious, I do as he commands and I sit at the table while he fills his kettle with water and places it on the heating element. Then he turns with two sandwiches on a plate and brings it to the table.

"I suppose I should have left some books or something out in the open to keep you entertained," he muses while keeping his attention from me as he picks up one of the sandwiches to take a bite. After that, he takes a moment to finish chewing before he mutters out, "But from the cautious mannerism you're displaying, I assume you've already found something of interest… under my bed, perhaps?"

I suppose it's nothing more than a gut instinct to jump from the seat and pull out my gun to aim it at him. Why I do it, I don't really know, and why he doesn't react confuses me even more. That is, until he takes a moment to snicker about something he finds amusing and starts speaking with that biting tongue of his.

"Well, I suppose that answers that question."

He says it like he was doing nothing more than thinking mindlessly about it and takes another bite as if there's nothing threatening for him to be concerned about.

Then he looks up at me with those hardened eyes of his and calmly orders, "Put the gun away, Vince. You could hurt someone with that."

"Vincent," I remind him while refusing to take my aim from his smug form as he continues to eat his lunch like there's nothing to be concerned about.

"And why should I?"

"Because if you shoot me," he starts, calmly and casually before he takes a moment to swallow the rest of his food and quirk his brow, "The others will hear it."

Then he puts his sandwich down and leans forward over the table while resting on his forearms, "And they'll hunt you down like the mangy mongrel that you are."

He smirks then, and quirks his brow before he picks his sandwich back up and orders me to put the gun away and to sit down again so that he can enjoy his lunch without some high strung science experiment lurking above him. And once I do, he pushes the other sandwich across the table toward me and tells me to eat it.

"It's very good," he says, and after he finishes his next bite, he notices that I'm refusing to pick it up and he mentions with that glint in his eyes that, "You'll like it."

* * *

"So, may I ask how far you've been digging into my personal life?" he asks after I reluctantly accept his offer and he gets up to turn his kettle off, "Or are you going to behave like an untamed savage over it again?"

"You were married," I state, offended by his insult and suddenly not caring if I piss him off by letting him know what I found.

But I'm suddenly wondering if I should have just kept that part to myself and only admitted to looking at the other photos, considering the amount that he's paled and the fact that he's making an even bigger effort not to look at me than he was before. He remains calm and steady though, along with his voice when he asks, "How much did you see?"

"The letter and the first couple of photos sitting on the top."

He nods while he stands near his stove and moves his kettle over to an unheated element. Then he walks quickly into his room, ignoring me completely and noisily grabs all of the boxes from under his bed. After that, he places them in a locked cabinet in his closet and locks it back up, making it obvious that I'd come across something he didn't and doesn't want to share with me.

And once he's done, he comes back out and stands under the doorframe while looking at the floor.

"It would appear that luck is smiling upon you, Vince."

Not knowing what he's talking about, I turn to watch him place his hand in his pocket and fiddle with something in it before he nods in my direction, but he still refuses to look at me.

"Due to unforeseen circumstances, something has come up that has given me the opportunity to send Reno and Rude out on the field."

Then he straightens himself up and goes back to his kettle before he continues.

"I've ordered Elena to stay here and watch over Rufus, along with myself. So after nineteen-hundred hours tonight, everything should be settling down and you should be able to leave without drawing any attention to yourself."

After that, he pours two cups of tea and brings them to the table before smothering his in sugar.

"For your own sake, Vince," he starts, and pauses for a moment while he stirs his tea, "Leave and don't ever come back."

"What happened?" I ask him, completely ignoring what he's saying and knowing that he knows it. But I can't help but be curious over what I've found even though he's made it more than clear that I've overstepped his boundaries.

"Even if it was your business, I still wouldn't tell you," he tells me.

Then he takes a sip and nods while closing his eyes.

"I didn't think of it this morning. In fact, I didn't even think about it until I started back for lunch," he admits before he smirks with a slight bitterness and finally focuses on me. Or more accurately, he focuses on my hair and suddenly frowns at its wild appearance.

"But then it suddenly hit me that it's in your nature to live through others and that I probably shouldn't have left those anywhere where they could have been easily found."

He sets his cup down then and tilts his head, very slightly as he continues to run his eyes over my hair and shakes his head.

"You sure did let yourself go. Didn't you?" he observes.

Then he snickers and returns his attention to his tea while I clench my teeth at the fact that he somehow managed to throw that in before he goes on with the rest of his thoughts.

"I suppose I can't blame you, considering you lost the woman you loved to another man because of your father, and then you wound up putting yourself in a coffin and being locked in a stone dungeon by the very same man that stole your woman. You slept for what?" he muses as he quirks his brow and daintily lifts his cup on purpose to take a proper drink from it.

"You're an asshole, Tseng," I mutter as I lower my head into my mantle and let my bangs fall forward while I unwillingly sink inward.

"Glad you're noticing," he states, making me suddenly wonder if he's doing it on purpose to get me to want to stay away. Then he lets out a sigh that almost sounds frustrated and he puts his cup down and leans forward again. But this time, he searches for my eyes that are hidden behind my untamed bangs and staring at the table.

"I _do_ have somerespect for you, Vince."

"Vincent."

"I'm not calling you that," he states with a strong resolve as he sits back and straightens up to make his retort more concrete, contradicting the fact that he's telling me he respects me.

"But what I will do for you, is remind you that this is not the place you want to be. You're a good man and you should be somewhere that won't destroy you any further than you've already been."

After that, he returns his attention to his tea and mutters like he's almost reluctant to say it, "And you should be around people that won't drag you down with them."

Then he takes a sip and says nothing more while he stares at the table and I turn my attention back over to him, knowing full-well that he's referring to himself while I wonder if he's even capable of genuinely caring, or if he's simply rehearsing something that he feels might have substance.

* * *

I can't help but feel like I'm a rope that's being tugged on with him, back and forth. He doesn't say a word for the rest of his lunch hour, and again, he doesn't even look at me and acts like I'm not even here. Except for when he's about to leave, he reminds me without turning around, "Nineteen-hundred hours, Vince."

And that's all he says. But I can finish the rest of it in my mind as I remind myself that he wants me gone. I'm also under the impression that I won't be seeing him again before I go either, not that it should matter.

He may be arrogant and more direct than he needs to be, but everything he says makes more sense than I probably want it to. And he's right about this being the wrong place for me and even more right about him being the wrong person even though I don't really know who that person is.

All I know is that the more I find out about him, the less I know, and the more I want to know.

Besides the fact that he lies to his mother, kills people, was married, and likes men, there's really nothing that I know about _him_, except that every now and then, I get a glimpse of someone I believe I'd like to know, and I'd even go so far as to say that he's drowning inside. But none of it's really important, or at least it shouldn't be, and as I waste my time sitting above the covers on his bed, nineteen-hundred hours finally arrives and I'm disappointed that he never came back.

Though I shouldn't have expected anything else as I find my way to the door at the back of his laundry room that has some bushes around it, and I carefully make my way, unseen, and half-hoping that I get to run into him one last time.

But I don't. And it's probably just as well.

* * *

For some reason, I never went back to Kalm. I wanted to stay away from it. Instead, I found myself going to Edge and staying there for nearly a month. But the truth is that I probably only wanted to stay somewhere near him as if I'm becoming unhealthily obsessed by him and can't stray too far from his presence. All the while, I constantly fight the urge to go back to see him.

And what better person to stay with than someone else who is unhealthily obsessed. Only in Tifa's defence, she knows Cloud from her childhood and probably has more of a valid reason to involve herself with him than I do with Tseng. She never asked any questions though, and she offered a room without hesitation as if she was genuinely happy to see me even though I don't really know why, considering I haven't made any effort to keep in touch with anyone since the last time Sephiroth made his appearance.

It doesn't help that I also blame myself for what happened to her and her family. If I had been successful at stopping Sephiroth like I set out to do in the beginning, she never would have lost her family, her town, or Cloud to his personal demons conjured by my failures.

And I suppose that's only one of the reasons why I don't know if I'd call her a friend, or even if I'd say she was someone I sought out from time to time. I guess I just consider her the way I've come to consider most people in my life. She's there, and if I see her, I do. If I don't, I don't. And I suppose it doesn't help that she can be too compassionate at times, almost overbearing, which I suppose is just another one of my reasons for wanting to stay away.

It might be because she's young though, early twenties, and I've just lost touch with what it's like to be young anymore. But she was lucky enough to find her calling in life at a young age by discovering that she liked taking care of children. She even went so far as to open an orphanage even though it fell upon her by chance in the beginning.

Maybe it's strange, that she started out running a cheap tavern in one of the old Sectors that are buried under the ground I'm walking on—Sector 7, I think it was, or as they called it, the Slums. But it seems that all of her woes and hardships stemming from there were what helped her find her way in the end.

The tavern was used as a cover to a rebellion underground called Avalanche that she was a member to. From what I understand, they used the basement as their headquarters until Sector 7 was obliterated by Reno. He was ordered by President Shinra to drop a section of the upper plate onto it to flush the rebels out, and it wound up destroying everything along with those that lived on that section of the plate known as Upper Midgar, or just plain Midgar, as it was later known.

Of course, everyone from the Shinra side was more than aware that the event would be as disastrous as it was—as one of their ex-employees later explained—and they decided that it would be a good way to gain face and point the finger at Avalanche by telling the people that Avalanche was responsible for their losses.

Luckily for Tifa though, she was one of the active members that was trying to stop Shinra from carrying out that plan and was spared from being one of the unsuspecting individuals above or below. She's one quarter Wutian, from her mother's mother, giving her the same black and bone straight hair that Tseng has, only her complexion is milkier and her dark-brown eyes carry a loving and contrasting warmth to Tseng's, despite her losses.

The rest of her ancestry falls a little from Cosmo Canyon. Though most of it's from Nibelheim where she was born and raised. It's also where she grew up with the man she still has a crush on, Cloud Strife, even though he's disappeared again and no one knows if or when he'll return.

She says it doesn't bother her though, even though she's not very convincing when she says it, and the fact that she's nearly given up on keeping up with the martial arts she used to love so much, makes me believe her even less. But I'm not here to judge her or to pry into her personal life, or any other part of her life for that matter as I find myself a table in the farthest and darkest corner of the new Seventh Heaven that she owns and runs.

It doesn't take her long to notice I've come out of my room, or more accurately, in from outside and immediately, she comes over with a warm smile on her face and pulls out the chair opposite to me so she can sit down and say hello. It's the usual mindless small talk that goes on between two people who hardly know each other but say they're friends, making me wonder why she even considers me as one.

She means well though, and who knows, maybe if she wasn't generations away from me, and I wasn't so closed, we could have been better friends. But we're not. So I don't bother to make an effort. Instead, I do what I always do, I answer every thoughtful question thrown at me in as few words as possible, and I ask none in return while hoping she'll get the message that I only came in for no known reason and a place to stay for another night.

And like always, she takes none of it personally since Cloud is the same way and she knows just as well as I do that we're nothing but two people who know each other's names. It doesn't stop her from making an effort though, as she smiles warmly at me again and gives me that sympathetic look that makes me want to leave before she gets up to return to tending her bar.

Then I suddenly wonder if that's what it was that attracted me to Tseng. He never looked at me like he felt sorry for me. Nor was there any hint of fear. He was so different from anyone I've come across so far and he treated me more like he would have treated anybody else than anybody else would have treated me. And despite his degrading condescension towards me, he treated me more like an equal than anyone else ever has.

But I shouldn't be thinking about those things as I look around the tavern from the shadows and my ears perk up the moment I hear Reno's voice. It's not because I'm happy to hear it though, and I'm suddenly lowering my face farther into my cloak so I can blend more into the background while I watch his sickly eyes scan his surroundings before he notices me and the corner of his mouth subtly turns upward.

"Looks like an Avalanche meetin," he mutters as he leans into his partner and snickers. Then he grabs a bottle from a patron that's passed out and finishes what's in it as they walk by him.

"Be good, Reno," Rude comments, unmoving and with an intimidating lack of expression while carrying an earthy heaviness to his voice as he continues to escort his superior to the bar as if he's the one that's in control.

"Er, what?" Reno slurs before he moves his gangly body like a puppet on strings and leans against his partner while looking up, "Ya gonna spank me?"

"Two coffees, please," his partner requests from Tifa as he takes a frustrated sigh and reaches for his wallet while trying to ignore his partner who appears to be out of sorts.

"I guess Turks can't read… The sign outside, says no pets," Comes a voice from a table near them as Rude loses his grip on Reno and the redhead jumps onto their table to land on all fours and knocks all of their drinks over in the process. Then he chuckles as he peers like a crazed man into the outspoken man's eyes and takes him off guard by suddenly letting out a sharp bark, like a dog's, into his face.

All Rude does is roll his eyes before he asks Tifa if she can make one of the coffees a double shot of espresso while Reno starts chuckling like a madman and climbs off the table.

"Git these boys n'other round too. They spilled all them drinks!"

"Is everything all right?" Tifa asks as she looks over to Reno cautiously and he blows her a kiss to let her know he caught her checking him out before he stumbles over to Rude and blurts out, "He thinks yer hot."

"Everything's fine," Rude answers as he ignores the man again and counts his gil before handing it to Tifa while she asks with a genuine concern, "Is he drunk?"

"Loco Weed," Rude detachedly answers as he dumps something into the coffee with the single shot and steadies his partner so he can safely hand it to him while telling him to, "Drink this."

With a quick strike across the redhead's eyes, almost too quick to notice, he nods and accepts the cup. Then he downs it like it's a cool liquid and smirks when he turns his attention back to me as he slumps into his partner's arms. For a moment, he stares at my hair with a tilt to his head and whispers in a voice almost too hard to hear, "Coarse black hair… broken ends," while his partner asks, "What?" and I find myself lowering my face even more.

"Nuthin," he replies before he turns his attention to an attractive female walking to the back where the washrooms are. Then he pushes himself up and shakes his head.

"I hafta pee."

"Do you need help?"

"Fuck, no! I kin 'old it myself!"

"This job doesn't pay enough," Rude mutters as he shakes his head and takes a drink from his espresso. Then he sits back on an empty stool and checks his watch before appearing to wait patiently.

The redhead spends over a good ten minutes doing whatever he's doing before he comes back out, seeming more clear-headed than he was. Then he takes the seat next to his partner and sits with his back to the bar so he can watch the men at the table where he knocked all the drinks over.

"You get it?" Rude asks with a voice that no natural person at my distance is capable of hearing while his partner nods and mutters out, "Some dance club. Majestic Motor Ball'r somethin like that."

Then he adjusts his pants as he looks around the bar again and turns his attention back to the men at the table he jumped on.

"Ya guys enjoyin yer drinks?" he asks as he walks up to them and tilts his head when they all cautiously nod. Then he smiles at them and turns to the bar while pointing at the table and tossing a generous amount of gil at the counter.

"N'other round for the gentlemen, Darlin. They're good men."

Then he winks at the man he barked at and sizes him up for a moment before Rude nudges him to get his attention and they leave.

I know Tseng told me to leave him alone, and I know he was within his right even though I know he didn't tell me the whole reason as I watch two of his Turks walk out like they own the world and are about to cause trouble.

But as I sit there and ignore the food Tifa brought to me as an act of courtesy, I can't help but justify the fact that he never mentioned anything about me not following anyone else, and I'm quickly on my way out to follow them after tossing some gil on the table for the food I never touched.

* * *

I can't help but find it ironic that there's a dance club named after one of Shinra's more powerful machines that Avalanche destroyed, and I find myself shaking my head and taking a deep breath before I reluctantly walk in.

It's a typical club environment, loud, flashing, colourful lights, a crowd that moves like they're performing the latest crop spell, and it's complete with a disc jockey that has his own personal flock surrounding him. It's not the type of place I could normally be found in.

But my silent argument gives me a good enough reason to be here and I finally find one of my reasons sitting at the bar. Like always, he has his dark shades on that make it hard to tell what he's thinking. He stands nearly above everyone around him and is twice the size of them as well. He has the body of a serious fighter and his ears are heavily pierced. Solid metal is a word that often comes to mind when I look at him and I also wouldn't be surprised if he had more tattoos than the one Reno and Tseng were talking about a while back.

His skin is dark, like those from Mideel. But he's slightly lighter than they are, making me think he might be a cross from some other region as well. I'm not sure if he shaves his head or if he's naturally bald, but either way, it only adds to his intimidating appearance.

It's not just his appearance that's threatening though. He has a voice that demands attention, deep, baritone, always serious, and he never lets the enemy see him smile. Although I've seen him laugh hard enough to bring tears to his eyes when he's around his partner who seems to be adored by everyone, and for some strange reason, all I want to do is drive that little Turk's head into the wall until he forgets who he is.

Maybe I just don't see what everyone else sees and I have no idea why I'm sneering as I finally see the little demon on the dance floor and I back into the shadows as far as I can. If anything, he's a superficial tramp that wants everyone to want him. And he couldn't be making it more obvious than he is right now as he grinds against everyone like he's performing a ceremonial dance under a full moon.

Why in Kjata's name Tseng thinks he's flattering and easy on the eyes is beyond me, and why in the hell he has to check him out all the time since I now realize that's what he's doing when he looks at him, makes even less sense. Not to mention, I really have no idea why I'm so bothered by him while I watch him move like he's in a trance and his vibrant hair-tail flies through the air like a crimson snake as he moves his head like he's in a pitched fever.

Not to mention, I'm suddenly wondering why I'm here since neither of them appear to be up to anything other than bothering me for some unknown reason. But all of that changes the moment Reno manages to work his way behind some woman that he's dancing near and suddenly pulls a gun that she must have been carrying since it looks nothing like the modest model he carries and never uses.

Then he presses it to her back while keeping it concealed from everyone else and hisses into her ear from behind, "Let's get some air, Darlin."

"Reno!" she nervously exclaims while he nods over at his partner and the man quickly gets up and goes to the back of the club to open the door.

In the meantime, Reno's already on his way as he escorts the woman with a look on his face that suggests they're simply going out for a stroll and suddenly, I'm on their trail like some sort of crazed hound.


	5. Every Time I Try to Hate You

**Every Time I Try to Hate You… **

* * *

I wind up following them to an abandoned warehouse near the shadier side of Edge. And I find an observation room on the upper floors where dirty windows allow me to watch them without being noticed if I stay back far enough while they begin to question the girl. I have no idea what any of this is about though. But I can guess that it's probably business-related due to the fact that those two don't seem to have a private life other than the company of the other.

"Where's yer boyfriend?" Reno asks as he pushes the girl to the floor, and she cries out before she scampers to try to get away. But Rude grabs her and holds her still with an iron hold that he's notoriously known for.

"I'm not with him anymore."

The woman's voice is shaky, almost tear-driven like she thinks this might be the last thing she'll ever experience, and Reno chuckles with that dark sound of his and unhitches his EMR from his belt.

"Don't lie ta me, Hun… It ain't gonna feel good if ya do."

"Shit," she stammers before she nervously laughs at him and shakily claims as she struggles in Rude's grip.

"Oh… you mean Koerin."

"'Course I mean Koerin," he retorts as he lowers his head and peers up at her like a deranged maniac. Then he hits the switch that shoots obvious sparks out of the end, causing her to jump like she knows it's a warning that will turn into a reality if she doesn't start playing by his rules.

"I'd answer him if I were you," Rude suggests as he tightens his grip and keeps his expression solid and solemn while trying to stop her from squirming away. But he's a second too slow and she manages to get a good kick at Reno's jaw before the redhead has a chance to slug her across the head for it.

Then he mutters out, "Cure," for his jaw and rubs at it while sneering at her.

After that, he spits on the floor and hits her with a charge that makes her go limp for a second.

"I've had a really bad day," he tells her while she shakes her head to regain herself and rubs her cheek on her shoulder, "I've been shot at, drugged, strangled, and nearly drowned in a fucking _septic_ tank!"

Then he accusingly looks at his partner and wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve while vindictively hissing, "An where the fuck were you?"

"Doing what you told me to do."

He lets out a snort then and holds the EMR in front of the girl so she can watch him turn the dial up.

"I'm not in a good mood, Hun. So I suggest ya STOP FUCKING PLAYING WITH ME!"

"Gaia, Reno," she blurts out as her makeup starts to run down her cheeks, "If I tell you, he'll kill me!"

"Heh. What the fuck makes ya think I won't?"

"Reno," Rude starts in a calm voice as he pulls the woman closer, "The little lady's scared."

"No shit."

Then the man chillingly smiles at Reno in a way that the girl can see through the corner of her eye before he states, "Maybe we should treat her with a little kindness. You know, to help her relax."

"What the fuck'r you two gonna do?" she suddenly asks as she starts to struggle more violently and I unconsciously reach for my gun with a sudden feeling that I might need to use it as I fight the nagging sense that I'm only looking for an excuse to shoot the redhead for reasons that have no substance.

"Maybe a little somethin that'll make ya wanna cooperate," Reno answers before he adjusts his pants and takes a step closer, "That is of course, little sweet pea, unless ya wanna spare yerself the unnecessary humiliation an jus tell us where the fuck Koerin is."

Despite the torn thoughts I have at this moment, I can't help but aim my gun at Reno. But just as I'm ready to pull the trigger with little care over the consequences, a chilling whisper from behind me catches my attention.

It's close to my ear and too familiar in its hollow tone, and it tells me to, "Put the gun down, Vince," and then a familiar pale hand is placed on top of mine with a light pressure and pushes my arm down as if he knows he has more control over me than I want to give to him.

I can feel his breath, warm and steady by my ear, and for some reason it's making me dizzy as that familiar scent of his airy cologne and lavender fills my senses. All I can do is slightly turn my head to see a face that the devil couldn't have worn better.

"You followed me," I realize without hesitating to point it out as he nods and perversely smiles at me.

"I figured a man who believes in penance would appreciate the irony."

Then he pulls me back and I let him do it, almost like he owns me before he pulls two wrapped chocolates out of his pocket and offers me one, and I suddenly wonder if he could possibly be any more twisted since he's acting like we're somewhere other than where we are and that there's nothing of concern happening nearby. And like always, as if he knows my thoughts, he smiles again and almost chuckles before he sits us both down and shrugs at my refusal to take it.

"They won't," he whispers as he sits behind me and wraps his arms around me like he's holding me instead of restraining me. Then he puts the chocolate in his mouth and rests his chin on my shoulder.

"Are you sure you don't want one? They're very high quality… Very good"

"I don't doubt that," I say, and I don't really know for sure, but I think the disbelief I'm struggling with right now might very well be showing.

"You amuse me, Vince."

"Vincent."

"Mm," he mumbles like he doesn't really care, "There's something about you that makes me feel light inside… at times…."

After that, he points to a gap in the floor that's covered by a heavily scratched sheet of mako-pressed glass which allows me to see everything that's going on without having to use the window above.

"Like me, they're trained to find the weakest point," he quietly states, "But also like me, they won't go that extra mile that requires it. They'll get creative if they have to."

"You mean they'll kill her."

"Only if it's required."

"You say it like there's nothing wrong with it."

"You used to be one of us, Vince."

"Vincent."

"Vince," he replies again and then he opens the second chocolate and looks at me like it's my last chance to take it. When I shake my head, he indifferently shrugs and pops it into his mouth before taking a moment to savour it. Then he shrugs his left shoulder as if to state that it's my loss.

"You used to do the exact same thing."

"That still doesn't make it right."

All he does after that is tighten his grip and sigh before he distantly states, "I really don't want to have to kill you."

Then he turns his head and studies my profile like he isn't really capable of feeling anything, and I decide to ignore him and continue watching Reno and Rude work at getting the girl to tell them where her boyfriend is instead.

"Stubbern," Reno states while Rude nods and Reno smacks her on the cheek.

Then he runs his fingers over the only materia slot he has in his EMR and looks at his partner with a flirtatious glint before girlishly batting his eyes at him.

Rude only nods as if it's some kind of code and states in a weighted tone, "Just make sure you don't get me."

"Head's clearin up," the redhead mutters to set his partner's mind at ease before he rubs at his eyes with his forefinger and thumb while the girl starts to struggle again and chantingly demands, "What? What? What'r you gonna do?" causing Reno to shake his head as if it's causing him a headache.

"SHUT UP!"

"I love watching them work," Tseng sighs as he rests his chin on my shoulder again and stares through the gap with an almost nostalgic looking grin.

And I'm not sure if it's just me, but I can't help but notice that it's Reno he's staring at as the redhead mutters out, "Confu," to confuse her enough to make her think he's on her side. Then he stomps on the girls foot when she refuses to open her eyes and look at him, probably because she knows the spell also has a tendency to sporadically act like a love spell.

"Look at me, Darlin," he croons as he gently cups her chin and turns her head toward him while he purrs, "Got some questions fer ya, Luv."

"Why don't you just ask him if he's up to it," I suddenly growl, surprising myself from the bitter undertone in my voice before I push Tseng away from me and get up to leave, causing him to follow and act like he's confused about my sudden need to get the hell away from him.

"What are you talking about?" he innocently asks, even though I doubt he is as he trails behind me while I leave the building with an unexplainable agitation and we wind up near the end of the alleyway that leads to nothing but country.

"Vince?"

"Quit calling me that."

"Vincent," he suddenly says as if he's capable of respecting me and grabs onto my cloak to stop me before I suddenly counter on him and wrap my gauntlet around his throat. He doesn't fight back though, even when I push him roughly into the wall behind him. In fact, the only thing he does is try to dig his fingers underneath my grip to offer him some kind of relief as he stares up at me like he hates me.

Then, just to simply add more fuel to the fire, his PHS rings and he pulls it out of his pocket while still keeping his eyes locked to me.

"I have to answer it," he chokes out and quirks his brow before I suddenly realize that he's asking me to loosen my grip.

When I do, he takes a moment to double over and cough, mostly to clear his throat out before he answers it with his back to me and I recognize the voice I can hear on the other end.

I don't really know why. But for one reason or another, I can't help but suddenly want to rip the phone out of his hand and beat him with it while keeping Reno on the other end so he can listen.

Best if I don't though, because I can't really come up with a good enough reason to justify the action. It's probably best if I just walk away—do as he told me to do in the first place and leave. It's not like either of us owe each other anything and being around him stirs something in me that I'm beginning to think is unhealthy.

He follows me though, and he continues to talk on the phone as he half-walks and half-runs to keep up with my quickening steps while chattering away to his precious little redhead like he's looking for any excuse to stay on the line for as long as he can just so he can hear his voice. Though I know that's not what he's really doing. They're only talking business and I'm in serious need of getting my head checked for even entertaining the insanely driven thoughts that are going through my head.

"What is the matter with you?" Tseng finally asks, immediately after he closes his phone and continues to follow me out into the middle of nowhere because he's unable to take the hint that I'm trying to get away from him.

"Why did you follow me?" I suddenly ask as if I'm avoiding his question and the answer he gave me earlier suddenly isn't good enough. Plus, there's something I want to hear him say but I'm not exactly sure what it is or even if I really want to hear it.

"To make sure that you actually left."

That wasn't it though.

That was so far from what I wanted to hear that I immediately stop and turn on my heel, unexpectedly, causing him to walk right into me before I push him back and he trips over a twig.

_Leader of the Turks,_ I sarcastically think as he pathetically stares up at me. No wonder they're fighting among themselves. Then I sneer at him with little effect since my cloak is covering the lower half of my face and he can't see it anyway.

"Who's the disgrace now?" I say as I lower myself to one knee so I can hover over him as he sits in a filthy mud-puddle covered in rotting leaves and sludge. Then I snort at him and rest my armoured forearm over my raised knee, and unnecessarily point out, "Your suit's dirty," for no reason other than to needle at him.

"Were you always like this?" he smugly asks while quirking his brow at me and looking at me like he thinks I'm acting like a savage. He's about to drive me mad by his detached behaviour when all he does is hold his hands out like he's touched something below his standards and doesn't know what to wipe them on.

Then the arrogant little scamp leans forward so our faces are closer together. And he maliciously purrs while he stares at me with those bitter and hard eyes and wipes his hands off on the part of my cloak that's closest to him as if to state that he thinks that's all its good for when he narrows his eyes, "Or is this the result of all that experimentation done on you?"

For a moment, all I can think about doing is ripping those miserable orbs of charcoal out of their sockets for stooping so low. But in an attempt not to do that, I wind up backhanding him with my bare hand and then standing before I kick the dirt that he reminds me of into his face.

"I think you're doing a good job of making sure I leave this time, Tseng."

"Then why are you still here?"

"Why are you following me?"

Maybe we're both sick with some kind of virus or something similar, because it suddenly dawns on me that I'm not the only one acting strange or doing strange things I can find no explanation for. And at what point, the two of us wind up standing face to face so that we can push and yell at each other is completely beyond me.

I don't even think either of us know what we're yelling about, or even why, before we both suddenly stop. Then Tseng clumsily grabs at the back of his neck with wide and angry eyes while accusingly staring directly into mine to tell me that I'm the reason things aren't going according to his plans.

"_This. I_s _why._ I can't. S_tand you_, Vince!" he suddenly yells as he pulls out a dart that's been lodged into his neck and throws it at me while I pull two of them out of my own and confusingly stare at them.

"This is my fault?" I half-yell and half-ask before I throw both of mine at him while neglecting to even care about where they came from.

"_Everything._ Is _your_ fault!"

"That's not possible," I tell him as I tiredly point at him with my gauntlet and wipe at the spittle running from the corner of my mouth with my other hand, not really thinking about why I'm not the only one questioning where they came from.

"Prove it, then…" he slurs before we both fall to our knees and stubbornly try to keep ourselves from whatever's in store for us from something we don't really seem to care that much about.

"You're such… n'arrogant… bastard…"

"Don't call me that…" he mutters before he tries to crawl somewhere, maybe in a circle, and mutters, "Been called that all my life…"

But I just need to push it a little further since I'm on a role right now and about to pass out. In fact, I'm probably about to meet my maker. So there's no need to worry about the consequences of pissing the little Turk off as I ask with a heavy slur "Arrogant… or bastard?"

"Animal…"

* * *

"So… What's with the ex-Turk-gone-Avalanche pet, Tseng? You taking in strays now? He hardly seems your type."

"Conductin exsperimnen… difffrenz betwhee-n ffailed'nm successful praw-jhecks of Ho-jo's passst."

"Shit. You're such a smartass, Tseng. So is this one a success or a failure?"

"N-nnee… d to… to think… Gimme'a… sss…. s-second…."

"Take your time."

"F- Failure."

"Lovely, Tseng. I can't imagine why you don't have any friends."

* * *

"We can do this all day."

"You know me… I love a man with stamina."

"Hm. I must say I'm a little worried about your friend though, he seems to be having a bit of trouble waking up."

"That's strange… That rarely happens when _I_ continuously inject sedatives and all sorts of other drugs into a person."

"Aren't you afraid the amount might kill him?"

"I can only hope."

* * *

I feel like I'm in a dream. Fragments come and go, and every now and then I hear Tseng and another man whose voice seems to be getting angrier each time, reverberating, talking. But unlike dreams, the pain I'm in couldn't be more real as I half-open my eyes and realize that Tseng and I are tied, back-to-back, and hanging from a rope.

I'm not sure if he's conscious or not and I can't clearly make out what the pinkish liquid is that's pooled below us either since my eyes are blurred from whatever drugs I've been injected with. But I have a discomforting feeling that it came from me while the throbbing seems to be dulling the rest of my senses.

"Are you awake?" Tseng finally asks in a hushed tone as he moves slightly and I mumble my answer with a numb mouth as my head falls back and I close my eyes again to alleviate the dizziness.

"Good," he says before he squirms again and tells me what's going on, "They got creative and decided to use you… and… well…"

For a moment, he hesitates, almost like he doesn't really want to go into details before he figures the next thing he says should cover it all and be a good enough explanation, and unfortunately, he's right.

"They were trying to get me to talk… You probably don't remember because of the drugs… They know about your limits and were concerned about allowing you to become too focussed or too conscious …"

Then he starts to move in a way that starts us swinging.

"We don't have a lot of time before they come back," he tells me before he slams us into a column and I let out an agonizing growl without meaning to from the shooting pain that suddenly pulsates from the impact.

"What are you doing?"

"Did that hurt?"

"_Yes_."

"Good," he says, and then he continues to swing us so he can pick up more momentum, "Just think, Vince… If you weren't a jealous and obsessive half-wit, we wouldn't be in this situation."

"Are you mad?" I ask before I wonder why I ask since no one ever admits to being insane anyway.

"Yes. I'm very mad… I'm mad at you, Vince…" he answers before I painfully growl again from another slam and feel something boiling within me that I don't want to wake up.

"I don't know why you think you're in love with me… You'd be better off with someone more like yourself… I understand that Gold Saucer is opening up again, perhaps their circus would be a good place for you to start."

"I do _not_ think I'm in love with you."

"Mm. Besides that, I have no intention to die today."

"Tseng…" I lowly growl while clenching my teeth so hard that it hurts and trying to fight the growing explosion in my veins, along with the anger that he's setting fire to as I cringe at the thought of being slammed into another column.

"You need to stop."

"No."

He sounds dark when he says that, and the third time he slams me into a column is all it takes for me to lose control over Chaos' will. Normally, I can hold it off for a while, though it's an exhausting effort. But I'm under the impression that the drugs they've been pumping me with and whatever they've done to me has already brought me to a point beyond that exhaustion.

And the moment it happens, Tseng falls to the floor as a demonic howl claims the hollow space about us and the ropes break from the force of something that doesn't like to be held back. And immediately, all of my wounds are speedily and accurately healed and my head clears enough to let me know that it does me no good when I'm like this. I have absolutely no control anyway as Chaos' attention snaps quickly to the Turk crawling on the floor as if he thinks he's going somewhere before he's pounced upon and forcefully turned onto his back.

Nothing intimidates this inhuman minion of the devil though, and even more disturbingly, Chaos seems to react to him like a pack-hound to an alpha male.

"The enemies are that way, you idiot," he hisses as he carries a fire in his eyes and points at the door that suddenly bursts open, like Chaos should have been on top of that.

And the next thing I know, my inner demon is playing right into the hands of my external demon's will, and I realize that the bastard set Chaos off on purpose so he could use it to his advantage. And that's exactly how it plays out for him as I try with all of my will to pull the demon back in while my body continues to rapidly repair itself beyond the need and after every strike while it remains under the control of something I never wanted inside of me to begin with.

Wherever Tseng goes after that is beyond me. But I hear gunfire in the other room, which suggests that's exactly where he's gone while Chaos continues to tear up everything in its path and I can only wait until it no longer feels threatened before it ends. And as I wait it out, all I can do to pass the time is think about how much I really hate Tseng right now, even though I'm starting to get concerned since there's suddenly nothing but silence in the other room and I haven't seen him come back out.

Of course, the darker side of me simply tells me that there's an exit in there somewhere and that he probably left and figured I could take care of myself, even though I doubt he would have been concerned over whether I can take care of myself or not.

And as for Chaos' point of view on Tseng, I guess he didn't see him as much of a threat because he's suddenly calmed down and I'm suddenly back to normal and running through the sparsely lit corridors of dank and crumbling concrete in whatever kind of building we're in. All the while, my gun is ready and I'm telling myself that the bastard-son had better be alive so I can kill him myself.

I know I'm lying to myself though, and I almost sink when I find him. But it's not because he's in trouble and it's not because of his torn clothes that are stained with his and Kjata knows who else's blood. It's not even because I disapprove of the fact that he caught himself a rodent and is literally carving information out of him while he practically lies on top of the man from exhaustion and digs a small blade under one of the man's ribs with a crazed look on his face.

No, I think what bothers me the most is what he says when the man screams after his rib is jacked up.

"I know you want to talk to me," Tseng hisses, almost spitting from the vehement tone in his voice as he jacks it up a little more and confides as the man screams again, "Because I know _exactly_ how this _feels_."

"Kjata… Tseng…" I mutter, whether he can hear me or not is unimportant while I turn my head down and put my gun back in its holster.

I knew he was right when he said his world would destroy me. He might have even been right when he said he'd drag me down. I just never realized that he was talking from experience until he soullessly admitted it to his victim.

But instead of walking away, I find myself kneeling beside him and gently placing my hands on his shoulders so I can try to coax him away from this madness, and maybe even save him from it as well.


	6. For You, I'll Fall

**For You, I'll Fall**

* * *

"Tseng… Tseng… He's not going to talk."

He should know as well as I do that Turks will die for whatever they're protecting as he demands the same whereabouts of the same man that Reno was demanding from the girl back in the warehouse and it appears as if he's oblivious to my presence. It takes him a while, but he finally hears me and listens, and he nods before standing and appearing to regain himself.

Then he looks up at me with those hardened eyes of his and contradicts any semblance of reason he might have had before unexpectedly grabbing my gun, quicker than I'm able to react so he can put a bullet between the man's eyes out of nothing more than sheer spite to prove that he's the one who's still in control.

Though as far as I'm concerned, his actions only prove the opposite and unfortunately, I'm afraid I'm beginning to understand the reason he's losing it over the situation even though I still don't agree.

And he does all of this without even turning to see if he hit his target or not, proving that he's nothing more than sheer nerve at the moment while staring at me like I'm the one to blame for everything that's going wrong. Then he puts the gun back into my holster, roughly, and I grimace slightly from the unexpected tug while he shakes his head and turns around to stare at the building we came out of and uncharacteristically stops as if he's stunned.

Then he looks around at his surroundings and lifts his hands from his sides, outwards, to physically regard the area like he can't believe he's where he is before he stares to the side with narrowed eyes and bitterly mutters under his breath, "We're in _fucking_ Gongaga."

His voice trails off slightly then, and I stand behind him and stare at the old destroyed and abandoned Mako reactor we were just in. Then he takes his phone out of his pocket and sneers at the fact that our captives must have broken it on him and angrily whips it at the ground before he accusingly stares at me again.

"How the _fuck_ did we wind up in Gongaga?"

At this point, I don't know if he's upset because we're overseas, or because his captors got the best of him, or if it's just because he hates Gongaga. And I realize that if I give it enough thought, I can jump to all sorts of conclusions that will probably never get answered.

So instead, I say while I remind myself of the beaten state he's in that, "There's an Inn in town. We should get you cleaned up."

And he turns to look at me with those hardened eyes again and deadly states, "The only way you're going to get me into that town, Vince, is if you drag my lifeless corpse behind you."

Then he starts walking in the opposite direction with a painful looking limp and makes a futile attempt to tidy up his torn and dirtied jacket and hair as he does so while I come to the conclusion that he's not going to make an effort to make this easy while he curtly states, "I only go as far as the reactor. Everyone at Shinra knows and respects that… Even Rufus."

"What are you doing?" I ask, as I start to follow him in disbelief.

Although I don't really know why anything he does surprises me after witnessing everything else he's done, and I hope that I can successfully talk some sense into him while he staggers away.

"The closest town is Cosmo Canyon."

"I guess I'm going to Cosmo Canyon then," he states as he shakes his head to remind me that I'm an idiot for not seeing things the same way as him and grimaces.

"You're in no condition to be wandering around the forests and canyons of this area," I tell him and wonder why I sound so surprised at the fact that he's the most stubborn son of a bitch I've ever come across. Not to mention, it's over a three-hour drive from where we are, never mind how long it would take to walk, and I make one more attempt to try to get him to see reason while I continue to follow him in disbelief.

"You can't possibly believe that you can handle any of the creatures out there in the state you're in."

He's completely lost his mind if he thinks he can walk it without any provisions to keep him sustained, not to mention the fact that he's wounded and would fall prey to the first wild creature he comes across.

"And what are you going to do about food and water… You don't even have provisions to sleep should you need them."

"I don't recall asking you for an opinion."

"You'd rather risk your life than go into that town?"

"Weren't you listening to me?"

"You're unbelievable," I mutter before I grab him by the arm and he swings around to hit me in the jaw before stumbling to regain his balance and the next thing I know is that we're both struggling with each other while he tries to break free and I refuse to let him go.

"You're going to get yourself killed!"

"Why should you care?" he hisses, more accusingly than questioningly before he tries to hit me again and I grab his wrist, noting that I'm gripping him harder than I need to with my gauntlet and that he's refusing to admit to himself that the crushing pressure bothers him in the least.

I don't answer him though, because I honestly don't know the answer and my focus is more on the fact that he's still trying to get away while I choose to ignore his wishes and drag him into the town. But he's not making any of it easy and I doubt I should have expected anything different, even though I believe a part of me was hoping.

And I finally give up altogether on my concerns about hurting him and go full-force at him when he roughly clobbers me in the gut with his free hand. At this point, I don't really care if I hurt him because he's about to make me lose my mind if he continues to be any more obstinate than he already is. And as a result, I clobber him back and tackle him to the ground in hopes that I won't need to hit him again.

"I'm stronger…" I growl, hoping that the warning will sink in as I hold his arms behind him and his head flies back to hit my chin, causing me to bite into my lip.

But I do my best to ignore it while I continue to warn him and hopefully stop him from his next attempt to hit me with whatever free part of his body is available.

"Faster."

Then I start to lift him like he weighs nothing so I can carry him and to get my message through.

"And I'm a lot harder to kill than you, Tseng."

"You're going to have to tie me to the first thing you come across if you want me to stay there."

And for a moment, the thought appeals to me, along with the temptation to leave him to his own devices after that before it passes and I stop.

"You'd rather die than go into that town," I state, not even bothering to ask him why because I probably don't really want to know, and he'll probably not answer me anyway like he usually does. Though depending on his mood, he might make an effort to lie to me just to spice it up a little.

"It's a matter of principle," he states.

_Sure it is, _I sarcastically think.

Then I decide that if he really wants to avoid Gongaga to the point to where he'd rather risk his life, both with me and with whatever else he'll run into, then there's not much I can do about stopping him.

So I drag him with little effort to the sturdiest tree I can find while he continues to struggle with next to no results since I'm not going easy on him anymore. Then I decide to utilize that miserable tie of his that lies about who he really is, and I find myself a little thankful that it comes in handy like that while I tie him to the damned thing without thinking twice about it.

"I'll be right back," I tell him while he glares at me with that burning fire of his again, and I'm about to walk away before I have second thoughts about leaving him alone like that.

He's probably capable of breaking loose, I figure, knowing how wilful and resourceful he is. So I walk back up to him and hit him across the head with my gauntlet, hard enough to knock him out.

Then I take his wallet because unfortunately, he was right about me the first time we met. The only gil I've ever had was from those that were thankful that I'd saved them, and since I haven't been helping anyone but him lately, I'm running a little low.

* * *

I don't really know what it is that he hates about this town so much. Though I'm sure it's a safe bet to say that it's probably related to someone who resides here and I catch myself studying everyone a little more carefully than I normally do as I walk past them.

It could be a past lover, or maybe even his father lives here or comes from here. It could even be his wife or his wife's family. In fact, it could be something entirely different, or all of it or none of it, and I'm well-aware that it's none of my business as I note the solemn and depressed atmosphere that this town has while I consider the fact that he may very well have enemies here.

Though I can't really see why that would be his reason for wanting to avoid the town to the level he was expressing since he probably has enemies everywhere.

It's bad enough that the first thing you see when you enter this town is the graveyards of loved-one's long passed. It's even worse that the cemeteries surround the whole town as if they've made a shrine out of it for whatever twisted and desolate reasons they might have.

And at that thought, I suddenly wonder if Tseng's childish and obstinate reluctance to come here is because he killed too many people in this town. But he doesn't strike me as the type to run away from what he feels is nothing more than his job. And more disturbingly, he strikes me as the type that would like rubbing the fact that he's killed someone close to you into your face.

Of course, he'd do it with style though, and maybe even a little bit of satisfaction as well. He'd probably be suave about it, just to make it more entertaining for himself and more sickening to everyone else who bares a conscience.

* * *

All of that aside though, I'm thankful that the Items Shop is still open and I walk into the old and small building, and up to the counter with the sound of creaking floorboards beneath my feet as subtle puffs of dust escape with each step. Behind the counter is a man that looks like he's crawled directly out of one of the cemetery's graves and should probably go back. He's far too aged to be up at this time and even more so, he's far too aged to be running the counter. But who am I to judge as I stare at him staring into space as if he's nearly blind, if not entirely.

And I suddenly think to myself, this could have been me one day if circumstances never changed the way I was meant to exist. Then I step to the side so I don't have the distraction of the mirror behind his counter to pull my attention to it with a sudden desire to compare my image with the things I'll never know, but should.

In an attempt to take my mind from it, I stare at his counter and mutter out, "Tent, please."

"What?" he asks, on the shrill and loud side while baring a toothless cavity full of evident poverty as he shakily leans forward to hear me better, suggesting he's probably deaf as well.

And I'm suddenly wondering what kind of town this is and why someone would leave a deaf and blind old man to tend to a sales counter at night.

"Tent," I say, louder this time and avoid watching his feeble and skeletal hands reach for my request near the back as he shakily walks over to it with an aging hump to his bones.

Once I have all the provisions and items I think I'll need, I hand him the Gil, along with a little extra for my own burdens and fight the urge to dig through the rest of Tseng's wallet to see if I can find any other secrets he might be carrying with him. But it's mostly because there's someone else present. Though unfortunately, it has nothing to do with my conscience even though I wish it did.

Then I thank the man before I leave and catch myself studying everyone around me again while I keep my head down and make my way out. And suddenly, I'm wondering what nationality Tseng's father might be since he is obviously not a full-blooded Wutian, and I wonder what the man might look like if I were to see him. Though it seems like a trivial thing, really, even to me, and I catch myself admitting that maybe I just want to understand him better.

But for whatever reason, I may never know.

* * *

When I finally return, I'm relieved to find that he's exactly where I left him and guiltily, a little tempted to leave him like that too. Though I doubt my conscience would ever be able to live with the fact that I'd left him in the condition he's in and I'm not really sure where or why I was half-expecting him to be gone either since I knocked him unconscious and tied him in a way that he hopefully wouldn't be able to break free from.

But he's still there and he's the first thing I concern myself with before I untie him, pick him up, and carry him farther into the woods for better cover from any more of his unwelcome friends from the past.

Once I find a spot I'm comfortable with, I catch myself not really wanting to put him down and almost disgusted with myself over the fact that I like the way it feels to be holding him. But I manage to overcome the more basic side of myself and I even go so far as to tie him back up after carefully placing him on an even spot on the ground.

I figure it's best to keep him like that until the tent's completely set up, just in case he manages to regain consciousness and decides he'll disapprove of something, or everything regarding my decisions. Though I'm not really sure why I'm concerned about that. He doesn't approve of anything anyway, and I try to brush it aside while I carry him into the protective shelter of the tent when I'm done.

Unfortunately, I wasn't able to get any proper sleeping bags for us. But I did manage to bargain for a few ratty blankets that the man set aside in his own cupboards, and I gently placed Tseng down on them in hopes that they'll be comfortable enough for him and suitable enough for his needs, if not to his taste, and I admiringly brush his straight hair from his face before sitting back and tending to the next thing that needs to be tended to.

And with an empty breath, I place a sufficient cut on my finger and let a few drops of the chemicals that invade my veins to spill into a small vial while frowning at the reminder that there's not a single drop of blood left in my body.

After that, I place a small pinch of crushed vampire fang that I acquired from the black bats in the mansion's basement in Nibelheim.

And out of nothing more than being personally trained from experience, I quickly hold the vial away from me while a puff of putrid and greyish-green smoke bursts out of it and I press my upper cloak over my mouth and nose.

The vile mixture lets off a scent that's sinful enough to wake the dead, or in Tseng's case, Hell's incarnate, and his reaction is nothing more than a reminder of how many times those miserable creatures had bitten me in that dungeon and how their teeth had broken as he jumps up and gasps for air.

"Leviathan," he blurts out as he scurries out of the tent on his hands and knees for fresh air and I follow while suddenly wondering why I didn't do that outside in the first place.

"You're foul, Vince."

"Vincent," I remind him as I kneel beside him and pull him back to check his eyes. Then I let out a frustrated breath and put a potion in his hand without bothering to explain to him that it wasn't really me.

"Dull your pain."

While he drinks it, I dig around for some gauze and whatever else I might need, mostly things to clean him up with since I know he can use whatever spell he requires on himself if he needs to. And all the while, I'm just waiting for him to say, "Couldn't you have purchased a better tent?" and he does.

"You didn't want to go into the town," I remind him as I close my eyes for a moment and try to pretend that he's not about to start again.

"Well I certainly hope you didn't overpay for that thing," he comments as mockingly as he can before he holds out his hand as if he's waiting for something.

"Speaking of which, I'd like my wallet back."

I don't even ask how he knew as I put it in his hand and moisten a piece of gauze with some water the old man bottled for me. But I break when I tilt his chin up and start wiping the mixture of dried blood and grime from his forehead.

"So, how did you know?"

"Know what?"

"That I took your wallet."

"Because there's no way you could have afforded any of this on your own."

"Why do you always have to be an intolerable jerk?" I finally ask him before I grit my teeth and take a deep breath while I continue to clean him off, and I'm almost dreading having to get him to take off his shirt since he's been in an extra foul mood since I found his pictures. I also know how much he hates anyone to see what he hides underneath, even if they've already seen it.

"Jerk," he repeats before he surprisingly leans back and lets me undo his buttons while he snickers at me, "I don't see how pointing out the obvious makes me a jerk."

"It's not what you say," I tell him as I falter for a moment and stare at the heavy scars on his ribs, immediately making me flash back to what he said when he had the knife in the other man's ribs, "It's the fact that you say it."

"I'm afraid I don't understand why it would bother you," he factually states as if he really doesn't understand. Then he pulls his shirt closed when I think he becomes uncomfortable with the fact that I'm just staring at him and realizing from the age of those particular scars that they're from the remnants.

"All I did was point out the fact that you couldn't have afforded this all on your own."

"No," I mutter as I shake my head and fight with him to get his shirt open again, "That's not what you were saying and you know it."

"Are you putting words in my mouth?"

"I don't need to. You say more than enough."

"Then tell me, Mr. Valentine," he says sarcastically as I stare down at his smug face and realize I've wrestled him down without even knowing I did it and I'm lying on top of him as if to prove that I'm the more dominant one and that he needs to take note of it, "What _exactly_ did I say then?"

"You think I'm dirt," I tell him before he laughs at me and agrees.

Then he pushes me off of him and mutters out, "But I don't recall saying that."

"Take care of yourself," I growl while physically stressing that I have no desire to do it for him as I push him farther away from me and stand. Then I throw the gauze at him so he can clean himself up while I go back into the tent to get the hell away from him.

Whether the smell has cleared out by now, if it's not mildly tolerable in the least, doesn't really matter since I've come to the conclusion that it's more tolerable than he is even though I don't bother to question why I let him get to me the way that he does.

* * *

I don't bother paying attention to how long he spends out there either, and I don't bother concerning myself with the fire he's started or even the fact that he's probably doing just fine without my help. I wouldn't be surprised if he only lit the damned thing just so he could sleep out there so he could rub in the fact that he finds me too repulsive to be around, not that it should matter to me anyway.

But he comes in eventually and he's quiet while I sense him staring at me with that hardened gaze of his. I don't bother to turn over though, because I don't really care to see his uncaring gaze, and instead, I continue to lay on my side with my eyes open while keeping my hand wrapped around the necklace Lucrecia gave to me and staring at the wall of the tent.

"Are you going to do that all night?" he asks before I realize he's talking about the fact that I've been unconsciously digging with the claw of my gauntlet and have managed to dig right through to the dirt beneath the tent's floor.

"Any reason why I shouldn't?"

"It's irritating."

"I don't see why that should concern me," I flatly say, figuring he would have given the same response if I had a similar complaint. But I stop anyway and frown at myself for doing it while he sighs like he's not impressed.

"I'm not going to give you any excuses, Vince," he says before he kneels behind me and tugs on my shoulder to urge me to turn over and I do, "But let's just say that over the years, I've developed quite the talent for pushing people away."

Then he pulls my arm over and starts to take the gauntlet off while I let him.

"I know I'm… abrasive."

He neither smiles nor frowns as he speaks. He says it all as if it's nothing more than simple facts that he's well-aware of. He also says it like he has no desire to change any of it either, not that I have the right to expect him to, or even the right to want him to.

"I know… it's a little off-topic…" he mutters, almost distantly as he brushes my bangs from my eyes and pushes my headscarf up a bit to hold them out of the way.

"The first boy I ever kissed told his friends…"

Then he looks away and shrugs as if he's ashamed about what he says next, "I lied to my mother about why I was beaten…"

After that, he crawls over me and locks his empty eyes to mine as he places both his hands on either side of my head and moves a little closer.

"Of course, he didn't object to me getting on my knees for him before publicly humiliating me," he confides as he lowers himself to straddle my hips and remains disturbingly empty.

"In fact, he asked me to."

Then he lowers his head so our foreheads are touching and he places the palms of his hands against my cheeks and closes his eyes, tightly, while the strands of his strong hair falls forward and remain caught between his fingers and my cheeks, and he almost shakes.

"I know you're nothing like that boy," he whispers.

"Or even… anyone else for that matter," he adds, like there's something else he's referring to but doesn't want to tell me before he releases his hold and slides one of his hands behind my neck.

"But it still doesn't mean that I don't think I'll regret trusting you."

After that, he grips his fist into the hair at the back of my neck and asks in a painful way while I grimace and grab his shoulders, holding back my strength to try and ease him from his unconsciously tightening hold.

"Why can't you just stay away from me?"

He doesn't give me a chance to answer though, and for that, I'm thankful. But it's not because I'm losing myself in the embrace of his kiss, because it's telling me that he doesn't really want to be kissing me. Nor is it because his breath is shaky with empty desires, because it's tense like he's fighting with himself to stop. And as much as I want to spare him from whatever weakness he's inwardly fighting with—to push him away—I can't, because I'm fighting with my own weaknesses.

And I'm silently begging for Lucrecia to forgive me for turning my back on her while I wrap my arms around him and pull him closer so I can feel the warmth of his reluctantly succumbing body against mine while I relish in the sinful feel of it.

And to make matters worse, I fear the only reason I can't stay away from him is because I'm hopelessly falling into something I never wanted to fall into again, and because I want him to tear me to the shreds that I know he's capable of tearing me into because of it.


	7. I'm Not Like The Others

**I'm Not Like the Others**

* * *

The light touch of his lips graze along my jaw and move down to my neck. They send sensations throughout me that I can no longer recall from my past no matter how hard I try. I don't realize it at first, until he continues to move lower while subtly undoing the buckles across my shirt and opening it that he doesn't appear to be stopping his descent.

And I find myself with an overwhelming sense of panic over it and mutter out, "No," while I close my eyes and grab him with an instinctual urgency to stress that I mean it as I pull him back up by the shoulders.

I don't blame him for being confused and I silently hope he's not going to ask me to explain where my sudden sense of fear is stemming from. But the question in his eyes suddenly disappears as he works out an answer for himself and he lightly nudges my jaw with his nose so he can kiss the tender flesh underneath to express that he thinks he knows the reason and understands.

"You're afraid you might not… _taste_ right," he whispers.

Then he nods when the only answer I give him is a tightening grip around his shoulders while I avoid focussing on him and stare at the ceiling of the tent. He doesn't let it ruin the mood though, and he lightly massages the shoulder he's moved his hand to before he starts running his lips and tongue, teasingly, along my neck again. Though he's a little more cautious than he was a moment ago before he travels to my ear and begins to nibble on my earlobe with a light and teasing touch.

And then he takes more of a risk and works his hand downward and carefully undoes the buckles on my pants before whispering again, "Warn me, and I'll pull away."

"I'd prefer it if you didn't," I tell him, low and gruff, and self-conscious about the chemical taste I might have before I close my eyes when his hand finds what it's looking for and he starts to move over my pants with a lulling touch that's already starting to ease me away from my concerns.

"There's more than one reason for me to do it," he mutters as he decides to ignore my request and works his way downward again, "And if it makes you feel any better, it's more for my benefit than for yours."

I should have expected no less from him. Since the first day, he's refused to take no for an answer unless it suits him and the fact that he covers it up by making it seem selfish almost makes me want to smile at the irony.

Though I don't really know what benefit he could gain from doing it and I wind up asking as he places a tender kiss over the last scar I ever received when I was alive.

"How does it benefit you?" I mutter, half-curious and half-disbelieving as I look at him through half-lidded eyes and run my hands along his shoulders, being the only places I can reach while he continues on his journey and moves the restriction of my pants away.

He does the same thing with his own before he runs a flat-tongued lick along the tender skin of my inner thigh and sucks on the flesh while stroking me again.

"Lubrication," he mutters with warm breath against my skin. Then he looks up at me, eyes glazed over with a seductive sparkle that almost looks diabolical at the same time and he mutters in an even quieter tone, "And the closer I get you to finishing before we start, the quicker you'll be."

Despite the harsh undertone of accusation, I can't help but let it slide since he's making it difficult to focus on much more than what he's doing. But his comment still embarrasses me and makes me feel uneasy over the fact that he remembers more than I wish he did.

And it brings back that unholy sense of guilt over what I did without his permission. But the feelings wash away just as quickly as they enter when I feel a warming and heated hunger envelope me, making me realize that I've forgotten the feeling entirely.

And immediately, all of my concerns are washed away, along with all of my other burdens.

Mindlessly numb, I am now, as I find a method of unholy escape through him and I have no idea what it is that he's doing. But I try to guess at it nonetheless.

"Kjata," I breathe out like a whispered breeze quivering upon the breath.

It's barely audible. But I still surprise myself at the lack of self-control as I roll my eyes back and run my tongue along my bottom lip before breathing something else out as well. Though I'm not even aware of what it is. Either I've completely forgotten what it felt like, or he's doing something that I've never experienced before, or both.

Whatever it is though, I'm wanting inside of him even more, despite the dilemma over whether or not I really want him to stop. But the reminder of the chemicals in me flashes briefly through the back of my mind and I find myself reluctantly stopping him from whatever wild exploration he's embellishing in.

And when I go to sit up so I can help him onto his side, he firmly pushes me back down onto my back. Then he shakes his head while he looks at me with star-glazed eyes and crawls over top of me. I'm not exactly sure what his plans are, and when I try to remove his shirt, he stops me, verifying that his insecurities aren't about to wash away as easily as I'd hoped.

Whether it's the way he's always been or if it's due to the events of the last couple of years that made him feel ashamed, I'm not sure. But my question dissipates the moment he slowly and carefully lowers himself onto me and leans forward to seal the action with a deep kiss.

* * *

He doesn't let me touch him this time though, and his pace slows once I let out a nearly incoherent cry. Almost like my own satisfaction is enough for both of us and he wipes the hair back that's clinging to his face from the sweat of his efforts. Then his hands wander about my torso as if he's taking a strange sort of pleasure in the way I'm still unconsciously bucking into him as the last of the inner pulsations course through my insides.

And only then, does he take care of himself. Though he stays connected to me. But he still manages to send mixed signals by the sheer and confusing fact that he refuses to let me touch him this time. Whether he thinks I don't know what I'm doing or if this is typical of him, I'm not sure, and about the best I'm able to do is run the palms of my hands over his thighs until he mutters out, "Leviathan," and collapses over top of me.

Then he breathes out as if he's been temporarily released from his personal restrictions and can finally admit to the fact that, "I almost forgot what it felt like."

"How long has it been?" I ask him, as I stop him from trying to get up so I can stay inside him a little longer and run my hands along his back to mindlessly massage away the pains I know he feels.

"Before the last time… Years" he mutters and closes his eyes as a light moan escapes from his throat, "Maybe four… Maybe five…"

Then he lets out a releasing breath and simultaneously breathes out, "I'm afraid I've lost track."

"Why so long?"

"Bad luck," he answers before he traces his fingers down my torso and moves slightly so he can circle them in his own semen. He spreads it about like he's playing with it and for some reason, I find it strangely fascinating while he adds, "And after the Temple…"

With a short nod to let him know that I think I understand even though I highly suspect that he knows exactly how long it's been, I reposition him so he's back to the way he was before he moved and I start massaging my fingers along his back again. I can't help but think that what the remnants did to him sealed whatever solitary fate he chose though, since he doesn't want anyone seeing the evidence of the state he was left in.

"What kind of bad luck?" I ask him as he sighs and moves his fingers to my lips.

Not paying too much mind, I kiss the tips and let him place them in my mouth after he toys them across my lips.

"You'll eventually figure it out on your own," he mumbles while he pushes himself up a bit and watches me with a subtle slyness and a slight turn to the corner of his mouth while he continues to molest my mouth with his fingers as if he suddenly found something fascinating.

* * *

I think nothing of it at first, or even why they were moist when he initially brought them to my mouth until I realize that they're the fingers he was tracing his semen with. And my next reaction is nothing more than pure reaction, void of any thought as I grab his wrist, hit him, and throw him off of me before he wipes at the blood at the corner of his mouth that I'm probably responsible for. Then he snickers as I spit on the floor before wiping at my own mouth in disgust.

"And here, I thought that you cared," he says, trifling and still snickering at me with a toying look in his eyes that appears almost spiteful as he grabs his pants and puts them on.

I'd apologize but I can't bring myself to do it since all I can really think about is where the hell he's going now as he opens the tent and walks out.

"Tseng," I call while I push myself to my knees, knowing that he's not angry from the look he had in his eyes. In fact, they suggested that I did exactly what he wanted me to do like he wanted to prove something to me. But I don't know what it is and I need to find out as I follow him to the river that we're near.

"What are you doing?"

"I have no desire to sleep with your filth all over me," he answers, aloofly as he waves his hand at me like he'd like me to go away. Then he dips his toes in the water and quirks his brow, suggesting that it's not up to his standards but it will have to do.

"Now go away."

Go away, I think to myself, and I think of how much I'd love to while he hangs onto his pants to hold them up and stares at me like he's waiting until I'm completely out of his sight. I don't go anywhere though. Instead, I tell him in a low and gruff voice that, "I think I'm beginning to understand why you're relationships never work out."

He's not offended though, and all he does is snort at me like he's thinking I have no idea what I'm talking about.

"I wouldn't be so quick to judge my past relationships based on the small amount of_ sex_ you've had with me, Vince," he tells me. Then he turns around and crouches at the water's edge and mutters, "Usually, I have taste."

Arrogant bastard, I think before I completely react again and push him forward into the water. I figure if he wants to wash all traces of me away from him, I'll help him by grabbing him and holding him under the accursed water.

After he grunts when he hits the cold and sharp stones in the river's bed, he tells me that he should have expected no less from the mangy animal that I am. Then he snickers at me as he lies restrained and beneath me with his hair flowing like tendrils as the stream catches it and pulls it into tantalizing swirls while his soaked skin reflects the pale glow of the moonlight from the glistening droplets that almost make him seem otherworldly.

I don't know why I'm letting him get to me like this though, and I tell myself that nothing he does or says should affect me, or even matter to me. I even go so far as to tell myself that I deserve whatever it is that he's doing to me and that I probably deserve to be driven crazy like I fear he's doing too.

But I'm not exactly certain that I should kill him over it even though I want to right now, and I'm beginning to suspect that he wants me to as well. Though I don't know why, especially if he fears going back to where he went after the Temple, and I remove my hands from his throat and sit back, suddenly confused and still in the water.

"You have the temperament of a Mongrel," he mutters as he pushes himself up and rings his hair out to his left side. Then he sits beside me and shakes the water off his hands while letting out a frustrated sigh over the fact that he's soaked. After that, he looks at me and sneers before he hits me on the shoulder with the back of his hand and gets up.

"Are you so far-gone that you don't even care about what you do to yourself?"

"Is that what this is about?" I ask without bothering to look at him and choosing to watch the water I'm sitting in instead.

"Elaborate," he says, or more accurately, he orders before he mutters something about it being a good thing that it's warm out while he shakes his soaking legs out.

"You're trying to drive me away," I say, more than certain that I'm right, "And now you're getting frustrated because I won't go."

"Of course I am," he admits. Then he tells me that, "You're going to wind up ruining my life."

"Why's that?" I ask with a slight cynicism to my voice over the fact that I think he's doing a fine job of that on his own before I lower my head and turn my attention to the woods in the opposite direction of where he's standing when I hear a twig snap, "Are you afraid your mother might find out?"

At that, he hisses some kind of Wutian name at me, an unpleasant one, I'm sure. But I can only speculate because there's no translation for it and I can only imagine the fire that burns in his eyes since I can't be bothered to turn around to see it.

"It would kill her."

"On top of being a Turk, I'm sure it would," I say, distantly and to the wind while I continue to watch the woods and listen to the sounds of it as well. I can't help but feel like there's someone else present and that I need to keep my guard up. But it doesn't stop me from the banter since I'm sure I can deal with both, "Is that why you got married?"

I know my question is spiteful and that I'm probably stepping down to his level by asking it. But from what I gathered from the letter, she'd caught him cheating on her, suggesting to me that he married her as a way to cover up his preferences.

And luckily for me, I anticipate his next action and move out of the way quickly enough that his blade just misses me.

"Hit a nerve?" I cruelly ask as I push him down and jump on him while pulling out my gun and cocking the safety.

He doesn't say a word about it though and just stares emptily at me as if he can't feel my fingers angrily gripping into his jaw as I hear another cautious snap in the woods and aim the gun into the direction and shoot at the first thing that moves.

"How long did you know he was there?" is the only thing that Tseng asks, like he's accusing me of not acting soon enough as the Turk I spotted only moments ago falls lifeless to the ground.

"I would have known sooner if you weren't being so impossible."

Then almost like he forgets about the Turk, he pushes me off of him and starts brushing at the dirt that's soiling into his clothes.

"You don't know me as well as you think you do," he tells me. Then he steps through the shallow parts of the water with bare feet and makes his way over to ensure the man I shot is dead while adding, "You only see what you want to see."

"And what is that?" I ask, not really knowing why I'm asking to be enlightened by his infinite and questionable wisdom as I push myself up and follow him.

"You want to see someone you can save."

He sighs then, and kneels beside the man on his good knee while muttering a respect as he checks his pulse. Then he closes the man's eyes before he rests his hands on his scarred leg and lowers his head while letting out a snort at the irony.

"My first lover was a Turk," he tells me without bothering to look up, "Or I guess you could say my first _real_ lover… if you could call him that…"

With a frown, he turns the man's head away from him and quirks his brow at the fatal and accurate wound in the temple that I'm already feeling guilty about.

"I was sixteen," he mutters, almost too low for a normal person to hear and I'm not really sure if he knows how well I can hear him with the enhancements I was left with as a side-effect from what Lucrecia did to me to try to save my life, "Just some fool who apprenticed under the only person in Wutai that would hire me."

He snickers with an undertone of sarcasm as if he sees irony in what he's saying and winds up disclosing why.

"I worked for a medicine-man that felt all men were equal, which was why he was willing to take me under his wing."

He takes another moment of pause while he stands and slicks his hair back with his palms. I'm assuming it's a habit of his that he does unconsciously since I doubt he would have done it if he was paying attention to how dirty his hands were.

Then he looks back down at the Turk and mutters, "Unlike all the others in town, he even felt the _Turks_ were still men under Leviathan's eyes."

He smiles, almost wryly at his thoughts and looks over at me with that glint passing through his eyes as if he's indulging in a dirty little secret.

"He was the only one that would treat them."

I figure that's how he was introduced to the Turks and I stay silent, more out of a sense of curiosity than respect while I hope that he'll tell me something relevant this time.

"I had difficulty with it at first," he admits, "It was bad enough that everyone knew I had no father to raise me and that I was… _different_."

He snickers at the fact that he can't even say it for fear of openly admitting to it even though he already knows that I know. Then he shakes his head and looks back down.

"That I had to tend to Turks as well, just so I could earn enough money to get away from that dismal Island… It was the icing on the cake.

"We tended to a Turk who was shot too many times to be healed properly from restores or high potions, and when he was better, he said he wanted to treat me to a dinner… as a way to thank me," he tells me before he quickly explains, "I made the mistake of telling him why I was constantly getting into fights after he kept asking me about the fresh bruises I had every day."

"Every day," I state, almost questioning it. But not making it sound like one while he sneers and slowly shakes his head as if the thought irritates him.

"Yes," he admits before he finally turns his attention back over to me and sighs, "Wutai's a small place, desolate when it comes to entertainment… There's really nothing better to do than beat up bastard sons… or anyone else that doesn't fit in."

Then he turns his attention away and mutters, almost as if he's rubbing it in to the Gods instead of talking to me, "It got worse after I kissed that boy… just one more reason for them."

"And you never told your mother?" I ask, monotone and quiet as always and sensing that his darkening mood needs to be broken. Though I don't want him to stop because I can't help but want to know.

"No," he tells me, "It's bad enough that she was…"

For a moment, he trails off and stares at the ground, suddenly looking like he's bothered by something even more disturbing to him before he shakes his head and finishes his sentence with what sounds like a different thought than what he started out with, "Wanted grandchildren…"

"So you snuck around," I muse as he suddenly walks passed me like it's a knee-jerk reaction and I wonder how he's managed to keep everything hidden from her while he continues carefully across the river again.

"Not really," he mutters with his back to me as I follow. Then he adds as if he regrets it, "Not at first."

And when we make it back to the tent, he immediately goes inside as if he's looking for something and admits, "I didn't even sneak around with the Turk. Everybody already hated me. So there was no point… But then he…"

He stops for a moment and at first I think it's because he's thinking twice about everything he's saying. But then he emerges with his gloves in his hand and focuses on them while putting them on.

"Nothing was going on anyway," he mutters as he flexes his fingers to ensure they're on right, "At least, not until he decided he wanted to experiment… try something new."

He walks passed me as he says the last part and makes his way back to the river while still in his bare feet and I follow him again while attempting to piece things together.

Though I'm not exactly sure where it will go while I mutter with my head down, "He wasn't gay."

"No," Tseng answers before he sarcastically snorts when he stops near the body of the Turk, "But he was willing and I would have done anything for him."

With his head down, he stops long enough to mutter out, "Beta," over the body to dispose of it before he turns around and acts like disintegrating bodies on a regular basis is so normal for him that he doesn't even pay it any mind while he continues to explain and makes his way back to the tent.

"So much… that I did," he says as he stops near the small fire and picks up a stick to stoke it with, "If I'd known it was only to satisfy his midlife crisis, I might not have chosen to let him be my first, or even went so far as to follow him to Midgar when he asked me to go with him."

"That's why you joined the Turks," I muse before he confuses matters more by shaking his head in disagreement and I suddenly focus on the fact that he said, "Midlife crisis," while angrily stoking the fire. I don't know exactly how much of what he's focusing on is brought out by my presence, but I can't help but ask, "How old was he?"

"Thirty-eight," he tells me before he takes a deep breath and snickers while wryly commenting, "Maybe you knew him… He would have only been five years older than you."

I figure it's best not to go that route by asking his name on the off chance that maybe I did, and I decide to focus more on the fact that he was just a kid who was taken advantage of by a man who would be older than me if he's still around. I can't help but stare at him with a sickened and compassionate feeling through my bangs as he does his best to act like everything he's saying doesn't bother him.

"You were only sixteen."

He only nods as he reflects on it. Then he tosses the stick into the fire and turns to look at me with a sly and teasing look in his eyes as he quickly looks me over and admits, "I guess I like older men."

Unless they're Reno, I suddenly think to myself before I quickly shake the thought while realizing that even thinking it is inappropriate and I'm somewhat thankful that he doesn't pick up on it even though he looks at me suspiciously for a moment.

Then he adds, almost like he did know what I was thinking, "Under normal circumstances, they're more sophisticated."

And at that, he narrows his eyes at me and mutters as he turns back around to face the fire so he can try and dry his clothes out a little faster.

"Or at least that's what I would have myself believe."

Ignoring the insult since I'm starting to believe that it's more of a self-defence mechanism than anything else, I take a step closer and ask him, "What happened?"

"It turned out that it was only a phase for him," he tells me before he snickers at himself for being the fool that he was and turns around to heat up his backside.

"He decided he'd go back to his wife and then tell everyone that I was some demented, confused, and psychotic gay maniac that was stalking him."

"Stalking," I state as I come closer and lower my head while trying to fight off the strangely submissive feeling that he brings out in me at times, and he answers in a lowered voice like he doesn't really want to say what he says as he turns back around, suggesting that he doesn't want to face me all the sudden.

Then he admits as if it's meant to explain more than he wants to, "I was only sixteen."

Supposing it's my turn to see the irony in his behaviour, I wind up fighting the urge to rub it in and I suppress it. Knowing full-well what it's like to be young and have no control over your emotions. And I find myself suddenly feeling like I need to defend myself and my actions, and I believe it to be true.

"I'm not like that."

"Of course not," he distantly says, a little on the cold side. Then he turns back around and grabs Lucrecia's chain to pull it toward him tugging me forward with it as he tangles his hand into it to stress the irony while I stare at the reddening mark at the corner of his mouth from when I pushed him away and inadvertently hit him.

Then he arrogantly states in his usual tone, though there's a sharp hint of sarcasm to his words while he focuses on the small orb hanging from it that, "You would never humiliate me like the others. You're just too_ good_ of a man."

"Others…" I wonder before the thought of 'how many?' crosses my mind.


	8. Tell Me It Isn't True

**Tell Me It Isn't True**

* * *

If I were to say that Tseng was not a difficult person to be around, I'd be lying. From one moment to the next, I never know whether he's going to cuddle up to me like a kitten or strike at me like a snake.

I'm discovering that it's nothing more than an inner struggle for him though. So I'm doing my best to ignore it when he turns on me and I'm finding myself wanting to take advantage of it when he's not lashing out since it's probably the best I'll ever get from him.

But I suppose I can't blame him for being the way that he is and I suppose I can't blame him for constantly shutting himself off around me, especially after everything I'm piecing together.

He grew up fighting, not because he wanted to and from what I gathered from his mother, he wound up fighting back with a vengeance. Then he was taken advantage of by an older man who took him away from his home and turned on him afterwards, leaving him nowhere and with no friends and no home.

He tells me he didn't join the Turks right away though. Instead, he tells me he wanted nothing to do with them after what happened, and he wound up following up on what he already started with, which was studying medicine. But he was in Midgar that time around and quickly discovered that the rest of the world wasn't much different from Wutai—traditions aside—and unlike all the other students he studied with, he was the only one that struggled in order to pay his own way.

Consequently, he ran out of funds and found himself having to make ends meet by signing up for Soldier as a grunt where he was able to continue studying medicine under their jurisdiction. But when his superiors reviewed him after a year, they decided that he would be more beneficial to the company in the higher offices and put forth a grant for him to join the academy for the department of research.

But unfortunately, they wouldn't pay for his place of residence—only the schooling—and since he was no longer in Soldier, he had no barracks to reside in. So he found himself overworking again and trying to make ends meet while living in a run-down shack in Sector 2.

He jokes about it though. And he states that it was a good thing for him because with all the trouble he had to deal with in Sector 2 as far as hunting down vagrants who stole from him and defending himself, he was able to keep his skills up. And he was way ahead of the other junior Turks he was schooling with when it came to requirements and expectations because of it.

And when I ask him what happened to his lover and if the man ever made any attempt to help him, he simply shakes his head and turns cold, and chillingly comments, "He was murdered," while emptily staring at me for a moment before turning away and muttering, "There was no way I would have joined if he were still there."

I can't help but get the feeling that he had something to do with it, if not directly, and I find myself being reminded of my first impression of him in regard to his trustworthiness while he continues to try to dry himself by the heat of the fire. Whether it's speculation on my part or not, I don't know. But he doesn't seem to show any remorse for any of the deaths that he's come across so far and from what I understand, he worked closely with some of the men that he and his Turks are after.

But I also find myself not really caring as much about that as I am about the fact that the air is becoming chill and that he's being ridiculously stubborn again. And I don't even bother to put much thought into what I do as I grab him from behind without any warning and drag him into the tent while he protests.

* * *

When the morning arrives, I find myself still lying beside him, not having slept myself due to the concern of him trying to get away. Though I'm not sure why I concern myself since the Seal Materia I purchased from Gongaga seems to have done the trick in putting him into a dead sleep.

I suspect he won't be too happy about it when he wakes up though. But considering who he is and the way that he turns without warning, it seemed like the most viable option. Although there's no point in focusing on it too much, and I pull his blankets up and tuck them more securely around him to ensure that he stays warm.

I can't tell by the way my own body regulates its temperature, but judging from the cool feel of his exposed skin, I'm assuming the air is chill this morning. Then after he's bundled up, I test the knots on the tie I used to bind his wrists and I test the give on the spare tent pole I drove into the ground to have something to secure him with.

I know I've gone too far and that he's not going to be happy about it either. But still, I can't really say that I trust him all that much. It's not that I'm worried about myself though, because I'm not. It's more for his sake than for mine, and with mixed feelings of regret and concern, I lean over him and brush his strong hair away from his face.

Then I open one of his eyes to ensure he's still in a deep sleep and place my lips against his cool forehead while inhaling the fading scents I find strangely appealing from him.

"I'll be right back," I tell him in an earthen-heavy whisper as if I don't want to disturb him, even though I need to ensure him. Or more accurately, I need to alleviate the guilt from myself by ensuring us both that I won't be leaving him for long.

He doesn't stir as I leave and I take a strange discomfort in it while I turn and mutter out, "Sleepel," to ensure that he stays asleep while I'm gone.

* * *

The first thing I do once I step out into the waxing signs of light is check to see how dry his clothes are. Then I throw some more wood on the fire in hopes that they'll be acceptable by the time he awakens and I feel the strange need to tell myself that I'm not doing this for his approval because I doubt I'd ever get it anyway.

Besides, I know how angry he's going to be once he discovers I used a spell to knock him out and then tied him up with his own tie again. And I'm not exactly sure how he's going to feel about having no clothes on either. Although I'm sure it's going to be just as fitting as I would expect.

But none of that's important right now and I'll deal with it when I need to. Right now, my only concern is finding him food. And I find myself standing at the edge of the river while sharpening a stick with one of his blades so I can use it as a spear while figuring he'll be upset about that too.

It's been a long time since I've needed to catch a fish, and I can't say that I recall ever doing it. I can't even say that I really know how. But I doubt it's very hard and with the reflexes and sight I was enhanced with after Nibelheim, I probably don't even need the spear. But it helps me to feel less like the creature I was turned into to do things the way everyone else does them, and it makes me feel a little more in control of what little humanity I was left with.

It doesn't take me long to spot a fish big enough to feed him but small enough to not be a waste, and I catch it just as easily as I spot it. Then I take a small side-trip to search for one of the fruit trees I know of that grows in the area. I'm not sure if they're in season but I doubt there's any harm in looking while a small part of me hopes that they are and that they're ripe.

Maybe it's nothing more than trivial, even though I know he craves for sugars and question whether it's a want, a need, or a substitute. But then I tell myself it doesn't hurt anyone or anything to appease his nature with something so harmless, and I continue on my search with a strange twinge tugging at my insides.

Why I grab at the chain around my neck when I finally spot the tree I'm looking for and discover it's in season almost eludes me. And I stand there for a moment, simply holding the small orb that hangs from it while a dead weight pulls at me and I lower my head while losing myself in thoughts unknown to me.

Then I suddenly remember as if the memory was locked away for whatever reason that the same trees grow natively around Nibelheim as well.

"_I thought you were supposed to be my bodyguard? And here you are… Sleeping under a fruit-tree… I could have been in danger…"_

Her voice almost sounds like it's next to me. A teasing and flirtatious tone, and I remember her standing above me with a picnic basket after waking me from an unplanned nap. She was always like that, Lucrecia—close to me when there was no threat of becoming intimate and distant whenever we were close, and I suddenly wonder as I turn my attention back to the camp if my real intentions in regard to Tseng are as genuine and forthright as I want to believe they are.

And almost like I'm answering my own question, I quickly grab a few of the husked fruits from the tree and make my way back to ensure that Tseng isn't in any danger from his surroundings or from himself. All the while, I try my best to convince myself that he isn't a substitute for the things I wanted or couldn't stop in the past.

When I return to the camp, I can hear him moving around, almost like he's struggling and I lower my head while I grab his clothes from near the fire. Then I grit my teeth and enter to see that he's managed to get himself partially untied by using his teeth and I make a mental note to gag him next time.

Although I'm not exactly sure why I'm making such plans, considering that I shouldn't be doing it in the first place.

And all he does when he sees me through the corner of his eye is rest his head on the ground while strands of hair partially cover his face and he turns his eyes to look at me sideways with that dark look that compliments everything else that's dark about him, suggesting that he's not impressed. He doesn't say anything though.

Instead, he just stares at me while I keep my head down and stare back at him through a black veil of weighted bangs. Then he quirks his brow for a second and purses his lips before turning his attention back to his restraints.

"Why did you take my clothes off?"

He asks the question with as little emotion as possible while he stares at his wrists and waits for an answer.

"They were wet," is all I tell him in the same flat tone before I chance a step forward and kneel beside him.

"Do you really think sedating me and tying me up was necessary?"

"Yes."

With a short snort, he turns his attention back to me and gives a quick shake to his head to get his hair out of his face. And when he fails, I kneel beside him and reach over to brush it back for him. Then I place his clothes near him and start to undo his restraints.

"I've killed people for less," he tells me and I don't doubt he's telling the truth. I also don't ask him to elaborate why he hasn't tried as I place his tie near his clothes and he sits up while pulling the blanket more securely around him to hide his insecurities.

Instead, I just stare at him while he stares back with that empty look of his. I know he's waiting for me to leave so he can get dressed without me watching him even though I've already seen him and it seems pointless to me.

But I suppose I should understand and I wind up lowering my head for a moment before I get up and tell him, "I found you some breakfast," while making my exit.

I'd tell him he can cook it himself as well. But I don't really feel like it needs to be said, and I wait patiently for him to come out while I pay close attention to our surroundings and place some more wood on the fire so he can cook the fish more efficiently.

It's getting lighter out and I can't see any signs of any more Turks looking for him. Though none of it stops me from being wary and anxious about it. And when he steps out, I hand him a sharp stick for him to cook with and walk away from him so I can crouch near the outskirts of our camp and concentrate on our surroundings.

"You washed my clothes," he comments as he appears to show no concern over the lack of attention I'm giving to him before he gratingly states, "I never asked you to do that."

I only grit my teeth and remind myself that I never asked him if he wanted me to do it and that it should make us even. Or at least, it gives me a false sense of justification over his thankless nature. And as a further act of insubordination toward him, I don't bother to ask him if his breakfast is suitable when he starts to cook it because I tell myself that I don't really care.

* * *

"Mm," he mutters as I hear him licking his fingers while I continue to watch and listen closely to the woods, "This is good. I cooked it with the fruit. You should try it…"

Whether he does it on purpose or it's a twisted game he likes to play, I refrain from telling him I don't require it and flatly state, "I'm not hungry," while keeping my back to him.

"I didn't ask you if you were," he replies as I hear him coming closer and I sink my face farther into my mantle, "I said you should try it."

"I've had fish before," I tell him. Then I turn my attention further away in hopes that he'll take the hint and leave me alone.

He doesn't though. Instead, he tilts his head and tears a piece off to offer it to me, causing me to react out of the sheer bitter mood I'm suddenly in. And I grab his wrist with my armoured hand to make him drop it and violently push him back when I realize what I've done.

"That was uncalled for," he mutters, sprawled out on the ground and instead of saying anything, I start to walk away, not even wondering why he's in a more pleasant mood than I expected. Then I hear him hold back a suppressed grunt when he tries to get up and despite the concern, I wind up gripping at my own stomach from a sudden dizzy spell that's been coming and going ever since Nibelheim. And it stops me from turning around to see if he's okay.

And by the time it passes and I hear him stumble, I turn around to see him walking a fair distance in the opposite direction from me. Then I see a few drops of blood where he was lying and notice that he has some smeared on the back of his hand as if he wiped it away from somewhere.

For a moment, I'm not sure of what I should do and I simply stand there and watch him a little longer. I watch him grimace slightly and grasp at his side, and I hear him suppress an aching complaint. In an attempt to hide the fact that I'm concerned, though unable to hide my curiosity, the best I can manage is, "Where are you going?"

"Cosmo Canyon," he tells me without turning around.

He doesn't stop and continues in the direction he's walking in.

"There should be a phone there," he mutters as he waves his hand at me dismissively and adds, "I'm sure Reno will be able to pick me up… If not… Rude or Elena…"

And suddenly, I'm angered. Though I don't know why. Or at the very least, I don't want to admit the reason to myself when I take note that he mentioned Reno's name before anyone else's. And I'm right behind him and giving him any excuse I can come up with to stay near him again.

"I'll accompany you. The canyons are dangerous."

He stops when I say that and turns to look at me while he wipes some more blood from his mouth, allowing me to see that I'd hit him without realizing it, which caused him to bite his lip. Then he tilts his head and reveals a scratch that I must have marked him with when I pushed him over and stares right through me with those piercing charcoal eyes and dumbly states, "Really."

Then he smirks and looks me up and down before returning to his venture and mutters with his back to me, "I believe I'll take my chances with the Canyons, Vince."

And after that, he digs around in his pockets and puts his gloves on before mumbling, "Cure," for himself while refusing to look back.

Despite what he says and what I feel, or at the very least, what I think I should do, I find myself struggling with his wishes against my own. And I stand, just watching him as he walks away.

I'm about to do the same in the opposite direction. And just as I'm about to leave him be, he lets out a suppressed grunt and grabs at his stomach like a sharp pain has struck him and he doubles over and falls to his knees. I only stand and watch for a moment, not really registering what's going on at first and cynically thinking that he probably deserves whatever ache he's suffering from.

But like the pathetic sycophant that I am when it comes to him, the moment he falls completely over from passing out, I'm right at his side again.

I can't find any damage though, or anything wrong with him at all even though he still doesn't respond. To make matters more confusing, there's not any creatures or enemies present that could have been responsible for knocking him out or hurting him either.

"Tseng," I urge with a whispery and bothered hoarseness full of an anxiousness that I can't hide as I shake him to encourage a response. Then I frown when he doesn't stir and I lower my ear to his chest to hear his heart beating irregularly, much like the way I found him after the remnants.

I have no idea if this is something new though, or if it's something that's happened to him before or since then, and I remove my gloves so I can feel the temperature of his skin.

Only, I think I might have bargained for more than I intended even though I don't exactly know what happens next, nor can I really explain it.

* * *

Everything has turned black and my senses feel like they've completely shut down. I can't see anything, hear anything, or even feel. I can't even pull enough of myself together to even fear why everything feels the way it did after Hojo shot me or what I suspect happened to Tseng after Sephiroth stabbed him.

It passes though.

And a strong flash of silvery-blue fills every sense in my body, even the chill of the colour and the cold and subtle peppermint-like taste and smell of it makes it all become alive with a strange and crippling sensation before it fades to a darker, almost indigo shade that masks over everything as if I'm peering through a darkened window.

And suddenly all my senses are dead and unresponsive again, except for what I can see and hear, and no matter how much I try to struggle, I can't shake it off. Then I suddenly realize that I'm not where I thought I was, nor anywhere near it.

I'm nowhere I've ever been before and even though I feel like I'm not welcome, I can't bring myself to leave…

I'm somewhere in the past. But it isn't mine, nor is this the first time it's ever happened. Though I can safely and thankfully say that it hasn't happened for a very long time.

And the first thing I get a glimpse of is Tseng reading over a handful of records in Hojo's lab, looking much like he does now, leading me to believe that the occurrence is taking place sometime before his demise at the Temple.

All the while, Hojo hovers over his shoulder with his hands clasped behind his back and hungrily watches the Turk's disturbed and growing concern over what he's reading.

"This is an abomination," Tseng distantly states as he continues to read and flips through the pages, looking like he doesn't want to know what he's finding out but is unable to stop, just the same.

All Hojo does in return is taxingly croon that, "That's not a very pleasant thing to say," before he places his hands on Tseng's shoulders and lowers his voice so he can chidingly drone into his ear, "Considering I don't criticize any of the things that you do…"

When Tseng stiffens, Hojo smiles with that insincerity I'd come to know so well. Then he lets out a low cackle and emphasizes his firming grip on Tseng's shoulders.

"Or even who you do them with…"

"Leviathan," Tseng mutters, almost dizzy sounding. Though it's like he's not even listening to Hojo as he takes a step forward and disbelievingly shakes his head while Hojo mimics him out of sheer amusement, "This is too insane, Dr. Hojo, even for you."

"Perhaps," the mad scientist agrees before he pushes his black-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose and licks at his pencil-thin lips like a toad would do.

"But surely, you can understand my concern, particularly for your own well-being," Hojo imparts before he takes a moment to let out another screeching cackle that removes any genuine intentions from his words.

Then he sneers at Tseng and lowers his voice again, turning deadly serious and carrying a heavy warning to his tone as he says to the man's back while Tseng stiffens again, "I'm hoping you can understand the reason I'm _urging_ you to stay away from him."

"He's going to destroy the world," Tseng suddenly confronts as he turns around and angrily shakes the papers at Hojo while suffering from a sudden loss of composure. Then he takes a threatening step forward and Hojo steps back in defence even though there's no trace of fear in the lunatic's composure.

"I wouldn't threaten me if I were you," Hojo warns before he smiles in a conniving manner and cackles again, "I've taken the liberty of injecting myself with the Jenova cells as well, so I can be just as indestructible as my son. And if I recall correctly, there's nothing you can do about it and no one that can help you. The President is dead and his son is far too immature and inexperienced to even begin to understand what he'd be dealing with, and your _lover_… Well, let's just say that he's already bonded with Jenova in the most exceptional way…"

"You've gone mad," Tseng confronts with a tightening throat that suggests the amount of control he's trying to exercise over his emotions while Hojo appears to ignore him and focuses more on his own thoughts.

"I believe he's calling it Mother… Interesting…"

Realizing that Hojo isn't listening, Tseng disbelievingly shakes his head to quickly shake off whatever disturbing revelations he's been made aware of and he starts to walk out while Hojo asks him where he's going.

"To try to stop him," is his answer, "There has to be a small part of him left…"

"Oh… I think the romantic in you is still refusing to see things clearly," Hojo cruelly gnaws and snickers when the Turk stiffens again, and he appears satisfied from the reaction.

Then he outright cackles again, like nails on a chalkboard when the Turk refuses to turn around and exhibits nothing more than a strong desire to get away from him as fast as he can.

Another bright flash fills my senses all the sudden, almost blinding but leaving no lasting effect. It feels like a shockwave travelling briefly through my system and I almost can't breathe for a moment as if there's no air present. Then I'm somewhere that looks like it's further in the past, and Tseng is standing in what might have been the living room of a home he used to live in with what looks like the note I found in his bedroom—from his wife—falling from a suddenly listless hand.

"Leviathan…" he mutters in a choking and suffocating voice before his hand covers his mouth and he stares, paling, at a door down the hall where water is crawling from under the door.

It's almost like he doesn't want to move or even know what's on the other side before he pales even more and desperately calls out, "Saity?" in a searching and shaking tone. Then he lowers his voice and quietly begs out a plea as he takes a hesitant and faltering step forward, clumsily tripping on the air and calls his wife's name, "Marina!"

For a moment, he only shakes as if he's gone weak and wipes at his upper lip before unexpectedly bolting down the hall to forcefully kick the door open. I can't see anything though. For some reason, I can't seem to follow him to see what he's seeing as he grips onto the frame to support himself from a sudden inability to stand while pinkish water pools at his feet.

But whatever he's found doesn't appear to be what he was searching for even though it seems like it was something he didn't want to find or bear witness to, and he swallows hard before regaining himself and running to another door in the narrow hallway while muttering, "Leviathan," again, and "Please don't take her away from me," before he opens the door and falls to his knees with a death-screeching wail.

It stops there though. As much as my morbid sense of curiosity wants to know what's going on and what it's about, I don't get to know or see, and another shockwave passes through me, powerful and hurting this time.

And suddenly, I'm seeing something I'm wishing I wasn't seeing as a growing mixture of hatred, mistrust, and a sudden desire to get away from wherever I am grows within me so I never have to see any of it again.

"I wish you weren't going to Nibelheim tomorrow," Tseng mutters to a silver-haired general that fills me with a sickening sense while he lies in a bed with a man who'll stab him. Though I'm beginning to wonder if it wasn't just an act all the sudden, "You just got back today."

"I have something for you," he tells the lying Turk as if he's avoiding the comment while they lay tangled and with obvious signs of what they were doing only moments ago.

"Like what?" Tseng asks in a breathy and disinterested exhale that's sounds fake while Sephiroth's hands travel down the front of him and push the silken-black blankets down, exposing a glimpse to me of what Tseng's body looked like before the remnants got a hold of him, perfect, full of vanity, and like smooth cream.

"Something you'll like," Sephiroth mutters as he turns Tseng onto his back so he can look down at him. Then he brushes the ends of Tseng's hair out, fanning it across the pillows and stares at it like he admires the colour before he starts placing gentle kisses along the man's neck while his own silver strands trail over Tseng's torso like every part of him wants to envelope and possess the man.

"As much as I like being with you, I'm not doing it again," Tseng mumbles before he pushes Sephiroth back and turns so he's facing him and curls up to protect himself from his lover's wandering hands. Then he shyly smiles and mutters, "I don't have the same sex drive that you possess."

"Sometimes, I think that you don't have one at all," Sephiroth responds, almost wryly but playfully at the same time before he reaches down toward the floor on his side of the bed and pulls up a long and narrow package while teasingly commenting, "But that wasn't what I meant, my sour little tonberry."

Then he hands Tseng the box and Tseng quirks his brow as he sits up and looks at the card hanging from a string that's attached to it while he holds it between his fore and middle fingers. After that, he snorts and tears the card from the string so he can flick it at the insane General while candidly stating, "Your writing is atrocious—I can't read it."

Sephiroth takes no offence though, seemingly used to Tseng's brashness and almost appearing to be taken by it. Then he smiles with an almost smitten look in his eyes at the feigned cruelty and leans toward his dark-haired beauty while toying with the man by touching him everywhere he knows he doesn't want him to and purrs out, "It says, Happy Birthday, my sour little tonberry."

"That's not what it says," Tseng confronts with playfully confronting eyes as he regards his silver-haired lover and faintly smirks, "All it said was 'Happy Birthday.'"

"I thought you said you couldn't read it."

"Hm," Tseng mutters while he quirks his brow and pulls the rest of the strings off the box so he can open it, "My birthday was months ago."

"And when was the last time I saw you?"

"Months ago," Tseng admits. Then he opens the box and stares at its contents in confusion while mumbling again, "_Several_ months ago."

Then he pulls the strange object out of the box while Sephiroth grumbles about how seldom they get to see each other because one or both of them is always out on the field or too busy with work. But Tseng doesn't seem to be paying attention to him while he studies the object's smooth handle that's woven in pewter and silver and he runs his eyes along the medium length of the strange, almost pole-like, rod.

"What in Leviathan's name…?" he starts, almost whispering as he runs his hand along it and studies the strange grooves that become more prominent near the sharpening end.

"Move your hand away and press the button," Sephiroth tells him with a sly grin as he coyly narrows his eyes and moves slightly back as he watches Tseng jump when fine blades open from the grooves and quickly spin before disappearing back from where they came. The sequence is only a heartbeat, and Sephiroth appears to wallow in Tseng's confusion before finally giving in and explaining what it is and why he got it.

He tells him it reminded him of the Turk, sharp, piercing, and shredding while Tseng stares at him like the comment doesn't impress or flatter him in the least. Then he snickers and tells the Turk that he couldn't resist it, much like he can't resist the Turk as he leans closer to him and starts placing gentle kisses along his neck again, stirring something dangerous inside of me and making me want to break loose out of whatever prison I'm being held in so I can stop him from touching Tseng like that.

"The man that made it called it The Shredder," he mutters in between his sickening and betraying show of affection.

"Hm," Tseng mutters.

Then he hits the switch again and watches it with a quirked brow before he places it beside them on the bed like he's not really interested in it. Afterwards, he closes his eyes while breathing out as Sephiroth works his way down his torso and ignores Tseng's mild nudges that tell him to stop, "I don't know whether I should be flattered or insulted."

And suddenly, I feel like something has gotten a hold of me, reflecting the way I'd like to get a hold of something else. Its grip is constricting before I feel like I'm forcefully pulled forward by the front of my cloak by an invisible entity.

Then everything around me dims and fades away and I hear Sephiroth's voice, low, feral and threatening as what he says is stressed as a warning for me to take seriously.

_"Stay away from him, Vincent."_


	9. Cosmo Canyon and a Sleeping Turk

**Cosmo Canyon and the Sleeping Turk**

* * *

I'm thrown back several feet from Tseng's body while grunting from the shock of a violent force that seems to consume my entire body in a flash of painful crimson. But there's no one present that could have done it and Tseng is still out cold.

For a moment, I feel like I haven't fully returned from wherever I was and I look around in confusion at the faint flurries in the air that almost seem to glow, and I notice the ground is covered in a sparkling veil of white while the vapours of my breath materializes in front of me. It rarely snows in this area—if ever—and to confuse me even more, the amount of crystal glistening ground and the blackened skies above me suggest that I must have been out for longer than I thought.

The only thing I can do to try to make sense out of what's happening is try to retrace my steps before I catch a glimpse of Tseng lying on the ground, lifeless amidst it all. His body is covered, eyes are open and staring blankly while light flakes fall upon him—not melting when they touch him as if he's as cold as they are and it fills me with an anxious dread over the lack of life I believe I'm witnessing.

But it's all gone within an instant and the snow suddenly disappears while the skies return to day, and I quickly turn my attention back to him with a heavy feeling that I haven't felt since the last days I spent with Lucrecia. He's still unconscious though. However, he's breathing and looks more alive than he did only a moment ago, and I'm finding myself wary of touching him again for fear of triggering whatever void it was that I caught myself in again.

And I suddenly feel sickened once the revelations of everything I saw comes flooding back and I realize that Tseng was lovers with…

I don't even want to think about it, I realize, and I quickly shut my eyes tight to try to burn the images away and convince myself that it was only a dream, nothing more. Though I take a strange comfort in the fact that if it was real, then I can take some form of relief over the fact that Sephiroth is no longer in touch with this world or he wouldn't have been able to contact me through the veil of dreams.

But it's not much in the way of comfort because it leaves me with an uncertain feeling over what type of hold he has over Tseng, if any. And even more disturbingly, it leaves me speculating more about the real reason why Tseng behaves the way that he does and the fact that he's admitted he hasn't been with anyone for years.

"Bad luck," he told me, and I begin to wonder if he meant something more by it.

Though I hope not.

* * *

As I sit on the ground that's returned to nothing but hardened soil and sparse sprouts of grass wherever light shines through the shelter of the trees, I tell myself he would have known better than to get involved with someone as deceptive as Sephiroth. I tell myself that Tseng isn't the type of person to put his trust in something so fallacious. He's hard and calculating, not soft and easily manipulated.

Then I suddenly wonder if that's why he's been acting so fluctuant around me since he could easily place me in the same category as far as experiments go. And the sickened feeling returns while I try to brush off the thoughts of how he stood behind the President in his search for the promised lands like he believed it existed.

'Romantic,' Hojo called him, and I knit my brows as I push myself up and wind up on my hands and knees like a predatory animal, just staring at him through my own veil of drudging weight like the less I see, the more I can hide from.

A mirror image of myself becoming more disturbingly real, and I shake it off because I don't want to face it while lowering my head farther into my mantle as if I can deny it by shielding myself from it.

But it does me no good even though I'm doing my best to deny everything I caught a glimpse of, and I'm still trying to reason it out in a way I can swallow without choking on it.

I'm also finding myself crawling along the sharp stones on the ground like a lowly prowler, almost ill as if I'm uncontrollably drawn and I'm going straight toward the custom weapon Tseng has hanging from his holster.

I remind myself that I've never seen him use it. Nor have I ever seen it, and that it's the only reason I suddenly want to see it. And I tell myself that it has nothing to do with what I might have been witnessing because the last thing I really want to do right now is verify it. But I reach for it anyway and pull it from its sheath. Then I feel even heavier once I recognize it as the gift he was given in the vision, and heavier still when I notice that he'd never used it. And I drop it on the ground from an even more disgusted feeling than what I had only moments ago.

_He's still mourning._

Though I hope that's not the real reason and all the while, I wonder who Saity is and tell myself again that I'm concerning myself over nothing of relevance to me.

And I'm beginning to think that I've made an even bigger mistake by involving myself with him than I originally thought. Only now, it has nothing to do with him being a Turk. Or at least that's not the only reason any more, and I find myself walking away as if my will has taken precedence over my better senses.

But I can't leave him like that, whatever that is. And I lower my head again, inwardly struggling over the fact that I can't blame him for suffering from the same weaknesses that I do and I take a deep breath while my jaw unconsciously tightens over the reminder that he's not only mourning over a man who nearly killed him and left him for dead, but he's mourning over a man whose very existence destroyed my life and many others as well.

It's nothing more than blame though. And I deny the fact that Sephiroth was only a victim too because I don't care to see things that way.

Everything would have been so much simpler if only I hadn't followed Tseng in the first place, I tell myself, and I close my eyes for a moment in hopes that my silent prayers for guidance can be answered.

But there are no answers. There never have been, and like always, I'm left to operate on nothing more than instinct and conscience. Though in this case, higher reasoning plays a part even if I question exactly how much higher it is. And I grit my teeth again over the fact that I can't help but be concerned about him, considering I don't really know what made him pass out and I kneel beside him to reluctantly put his weapon back where it belongs and to pick him up while frowning over the fact that he doesn't stir at all.

He's out cold and the only place I can think to take him right now is Gongaga since we're still fairly close, and I want to get him looked at by a doctor sooner than later. But for some reason, I find myself minding his reaction the last time I tried to get him to go there. And I take a deep breath while wondering if taking the longer route and taking him to Cosmo Canyon is nothing more than a fool's decision even though I've already started walking in that direction.

* * *

Carrying Tseng for such a great distance along with what little supplies I could add to the burden is nothing more than a simple feat for me. With the enhancements Hojo's and Lucrecia's experiments left me with, I'm left with the inability to judge exactly how heavy something is or isn't since my body can handle it with great ease. And as a result, Tseng weighs next to nothing to me, making it easy for me to deal with the odd creatures I come across and making it easy for me to insure his safety at the same time.

Luckily, the trip is cut short when a traveller transporting chocobos offers to take us the rest of the way, reducing the length of the venture further.

"Heh, looks like ya got yerself a wounded Turk," the man states when he stops the rusted vehicle with a grinding complaint, and the first thing I do is lower my gun-arm so the access is more readily available while I carefully scout the vast and green fields on the outskirts of the woods.

But he leaves me with little to be concerned about once I convince myself that the man is too feeble to be wary of and too poor to be in league with any of Tseng's enemies.

"Y'know, I can take ya to Gonegaga," he offers while mispronouncing the word and thumbing behind him, "There's a medical facility back there."

All I do is shake my head and dumbly mutter out, "I need to take him to Cosmo Canyon."

Then the man leans through the opening of his mud-stained window and takes a good look at Tseng.

"Ah," he muses and nods before he waves at me to get in, "Never would'a guessed 'im as the type ta perfer witch doctors over perfessional medicine."

"You know him?" I ask, suddenly wary again and unnecessarily cautious as I fight with every sense of mine that says to just shoot the man and set my mind at ease. But I know that's nothing more than the feral senses I was left with and I do my best to ignore it as I lower my head even more in hopes that he can't sense my thoughts.

"Nah. Well. Sorta," he answers, "Used ta do deliveries ta Midger back in the ol' days. N'sometimes he'd be ord'rin 'is men ta check over the shipmints."

The man pauses for a moment as if he's going back in time before muttering with a careless shrug, "Standerd perceeder, really. He was one'a the ones I act'ally purferred ta deal with. 'E was always quiet'n polite, n'he always tipped me fer the trouble."

Then he frowns and leans farther out of his window to take a closer look at the Turk in my arms.

"Never smiled at any'a my jokes though... Bit of a serious fella."

_Sounds like him, _I think to myself as the man waves me into the vehicle again while he moves some garbage out of the way with weather-worn fingers on the passenger's seat and asks me if I'm a friend of Tseng's.

"Something like that," I quietly state, keeping my head down as I walk to the other side and pull hard on the loose and nearly broken handle to get the rusty and oil-starved door to open with a loud and creaking complaint that almost hurts my oversensitive ears.

Even though I'm relieved to find a faster way to Cosmo Canyon, my concern for Tseng's well-being grows greater the closer we get because he still hasn't stirred. His breathing is still shallow and his heart continues to beat irregularly. I take some comfort in the fact that there's been no change though, considering that I'd have more to be concerned about if his condition worsened.

But it hasn't yet, and I'm still overly cautious about touching him with bare skin to check his temperature. And as a result, I find myself trying to convince myself that his colouring seems healthy, at least what little colouring he has to begin with.

And when we finally reach the outskirts of the small town of Cosmo Canyon sometime in the evening, I start to feel a sense of relief and I almost forget that I'm in the company of a stranger while I thoughtlessly hold onto Tseng a little more tenderly than I should probably be doing. But the moment I realize it, I quickly change my mannerism and take note that the man didn't seem to notice.

I'm slightly relieved that he seems more focused on constantly checking on the chocobos he's transporting through his rear-view mirror and keeping his eyes on the sparsely gravelled road than he is in involving our business with his own.

He stops just near the edge of town to let us out. Then he apologizes for not taking us directly into the town, not that he needs to though. Cosmo Canyon has never been accessible by vehicles and I nod at him while lowering my head and mumbling, "Thanks," in a distracted sense of gratitude.

Then I pull out Tseng's wallet and hand the man some gil while he watches me suspiciously, knowing full-well that I'm paying him from someone else's wallet.

"He would have given it to you himself," I mutter as a weak explanation while he looks me over and sceptically nods.

But he says nothing about it and accepts it just the same. And after that, I walk into the town to run straight into Red XIII who's inquisitively staring at the Turk in my arms with a tilt to his head while seemingly relaxing on top of the iron-stained rock that bares the reddish colour dominating the area.

* * *

"Nanaki," I mutter, respectful of his real name as he nods a silent greeting in return and makes his way down so he can curiously follow me into the town. All the while, I'm wishing I'd taken Tseng somewhere else instead.

"Is that Tseng?" He asks with a genuinely interested tone that makes me wonder why he'd show concern, considering the man I'm carrying over my shoulder is the very same man that captured him for Hojo to use in his biological experiments.

At first I hesitate, and I even go so far as to kid myself into believing that Nanaki's not following me or even asking innocent questions about his past captor and tormentor. And I even take it a step further and hope that if I ignore him long enough, he'll go away.

He doesn't though, and I suddenly stop, take a deep breath, and remind myself that I'm being unnecessarily rude before turning around to face the fire-coloured creature that I've never been able to clearly define as anything recognizable. Despite the arguments between Yuffi and Cid, I'm still not fully convinced that Nanaki is related to either a dog or a cat.

And why I'm suddenly falling back on a circular argument that was never solved in the past, or even has any relevance on the present is beyond me even though I'm inwardly convinced that he's an entirely unique species onto his own. But besides that, I take a quick glance at the flame burning on the end of his tail and wonder if it reflects the health of his spirit.

Then I lower my head while carefully giving my explanation some thought and I mutter out, "I found him in the forest outside of Gongaga."

But I didn't give it as careful thought as I assumed I did because his first question is justifiably inquisitive, "Why did you bring him here then?"

_Good question,_ I think, before I turn away and start to walk toward the inn without really thinking about my inability to stop myself from always physically reacting. I'm suddenly wishing I could trace my steps back and rephrase the reason for carrying the devil's right arm over my shoulder, and I mutter the first thing that comes to mind, "Their doctors were unavailable."

_Now I'm lying for him,_ I think, as I lower my head again and grit my teeth while Nanaki muses as I push the blanket the inn uses as a door aside, "That's strange."

_What's strange?_ I feel like asking. But I don't simply because it would go against all my inner efforts to will Nanaki away, and instead, I open Tseng's wallet again and hand some gil to the innkeeper for a room with two beds.

All the while, the fire-coloured beast watches me intently and tilts his head as if I asked the question.

"Well, our doctors are unavailable too."

_You've got to be kidding me,_ I'm tempted to say before I turn to look at him through a blackened veil. But as usual, I say nothing and just stare down at the creature that seems to sense the fact that I'm not exactly thrilled at the new turn of events.

Then he tilts his head curiously at me again and attempts to set my mind at ease.

"Er, they will be back later this evening."

"Back," I mutter before I take a heavy step over the mismatching stones beneath my feet and falter when Tseng's right hand—the one he keeps his blade near—twitches. Then almost instinctually, I walk passed Nanaki with an urgent pace while asking him to, "let me know when they return."

"All right," he calls after me as he follows behind with a curious stride, "Is there anything I can do to help?"

No, I think. Then I falter again when I'm reminded of the torn state Tseng's clothes are in and I toss his wallet behind me where Nanaki anticipates the action and catches it with his teeth.

"Take this," I tell him as I continue to walk to our room, "He's going to need some clothes."

Then I pause for a moment when I recall how revealing the native garments are to these parts and add, "Make sure they're concealing, long sleeves, closed collar, and long pants—No shorts."

Then I open the door to the room and pause, realizing that Tseng hasn't eaten all day.

"And something sweet to eat."

"Sweet?"

I don't blame him for the questioning tone at the bizarre request and about the best I can come up with in response to it is, "I have a craving," and as if I don't seem strange enough, a last thought crosses my mind and I ask him, "Do any of the local shops sell lavender?"

"Y-yes," Nanaki answers, making it more than obvious that he'd like to know why I'm asking as he stares at me while tilting his head again. He doesn't ask though. Instead, he sits down and scratches at his ear with his hind paw, scattering the beads and feathers the locals like to adorn his mane with before licking at his nails to clean them off.

"I'll need some of that too," I tell him before I quickly open the door and step inside to lock myself away from having to answer for anything else. I know he'll just give the wallet to one of the locals and relay the questionable orders I've requested. But I can't say that I really care as long as Tseng's needs are met. And I lower my head while taking a quick moment to shake off my concerns before I carefully place Tseng on the bed closest to the bathroom.

He twitches again, same hand, and I'm wondering if he's close to regaining consciousness. I'm also minding the fact that his blade is there as well, and that I should deal with him cautiously.

Then I let out a weighted breath as if I'd been holding it and I carefully run my gloved fingers along his chiselled cheek while leaning over him. He looks flush now, and his eyelids are fluttering like he's dreaming. And I'm slightly relieved that his heart is starting to beat more regularly.

But I'm still concerned because I have no idea what happened or is happening to him, and I have no idea if he'll ever come out of it. And all the while, I try to brush away the thoughts of how the flashes I witnessed were reminiscent of death.

There's not much else I can do though, except to either wait for the doctors or wait for him to wake up on his own. And with that anxious feeling that comes with not knowing, I let out another heavy breath and grit my teeth. Then I adjust him more comfortably and grab the pillows from the other bed so I can place them under his knees, hoping it will help alleviate any possible pressure on his back.

I don't really know why I'm doing any of this because for all I know, I'm the one responsible for it. And as much as I hate to admit to it, I can't help but suspect that Sephiroth has somehow managed to hang onto Tseng from whatever 'other' place he's connected to him from, if that's the case.

I doubt it's out of love though. Instead, I suspect that it's more out of a sense of possession, and maybe even punishment just to simply be cruel due to the bitter state he wound up in. And I also highly suspect that Tseng would wake up immediately if I were to leave if my guesses are right.

But I'm not about to give in and I convince myself that it has nothing to do with my own sense of possession. And I tell myself that it's more for Tseng's benefit than for mine.

All the while, I brush off the nagging thought that I might very well be choosing to be difficult just because I suddenly want to take something of Sephiroth's away, just like his existence took something away from me.

And I lower my head before I straighten up and stare at Tseng's sleeping form while silently questioning my own motives. He looks peaceful, as ironic as that is. Then I grit my teeth while subtly sneering at how ill I'm suddenly feeling again, and I take my mind off it by closing the curtains to all the windows in the room, knowing how much Tseng would like to keep his privacy.

But that's not the only reason. I also know how much he'd disapprove if I left them open, leaving the chance for someone to see me climbing onto the same bed he's laying on and wrapping my arms protectively around him, possessively, before placing a soft kiss on his cheek to add emphasis to the fact that he belongs to me now.

Feral, as Tseng calls me, barely cuts into the name for the beast-like instincts I've buried under thin soil. And I bury my face into his neck while closing my eyes to shut the inner turmoil out. I take what little comfort I can in the diminishing scent of his cologne and the fact that no repercussions arise by touching him with bare skin again.

* * *

A light scratching at the door snaps me back to reality and I slowly lift my head in confusion. I must have dozed off, I think, and I look down at Tseng who's looking less flush and breathing more steady. Then I frown and sit up with every effort not to disturb him and walk to the door while taking in the irony of how only moments ago I wanted him to wake up, and now all the sudden, I'm trying to let him sleep.

When I open the door, Nanaki is sitting on the worn, wooden deck with a bag closed by a drawstring in front of him and tells me, "The wallet is in the bag."

Then he looks passed me and fixates his attention on the closed curtains and Tseng before he looks back up at me and asks, "Is there anything else I can do to help?"

"No," I tell him, realizing I'm being rude again as I bend down to grab the supplies, and in an effort to let him know I appreciate the help he's already offered, I lower my head and try to come up with something that doesn't make me sound thankless, "I think it's best to just wait and see what the doctors say when they get back."

"I can keep you company," he offers in that soothing and non-intrusively melodic voice of his while he regards me again, making me wonder if he's only being polite.

Then to make things even more awkward, Tseng unconsciously mutters out with long pauses between the words while his leg jumps in the air and his hands rush to cover his stomach, "Sefff'roth… No."

"Hades," I mutter under my breath while Nanaki looks up at me and asks, "Pardon?"

"Nothing," I say while inwardly hoping that Tseng's not reliving being stabbed by his own lover. Then I mumble as I step back and close the door out of nothing more than instinct, "I'll be fine."

* * *

If only I had some guidance, I think, after I close the door and stand there with my head down. Then I turn to see that Tseng has returned to whatever slumber he's trapped in and I let out a long-held and unneeded breath. I can only hope that whatever's wrong with him isn't going to last much longer, and I walk over to him and look down.

It's ironic, I think again. But he doesn't only look peaceful, he almost looks angelic with those striking features of his, ethereal. And as I watch him in a trancelike state, his leg slides back down from a lack of wakening fortitude and his hand slips from its protective grasp over his scar. It makes me frown while I tilt my head and lean over to stroke his hair behind his left ear, betraying the fact that I tell myself I don't care about him.

"Wake up soon," I whisper, rough and broken and in a contradictory tone as if I don't really want to disturb him. Then I push his blazer to the side and take a look at the weapon he's never used again.

And this time, I admit that it bothers me even though I know I should be the last one to frown upon someone else's sentiment. I'm also the last one to judge over someone else's choices whether they sit right with me or not. But it still doesn't stop me from wanting to take it away for reasons I can't quite explain, and whether it's my right or not, I find myself unable to fight the urge to pull it out of its sheath again.

Though this time, it's with the intention to take it away and keep it away.

Maybe it was something I should have done in the first place—and with that particular desire in mind—because the moment I get the weapon nearly half way out, Tseng's eyes dart open with a brief flash that almost makes them look silvery. It's only my imagination though, and I know it's only because I want to convince myself that he's nothing more than the devil's advocate so I can find a reason to hate him.

But despite that, I'm moving on the defence while the blade around his wrist juts out quicker than I can anticipate, and he manages to swing out and miss me by just a hair as if he sees me as a threat.

Though he manages to slice a tear into my shirt, intending to kill.

He stops dead once he's aware enough to know he's staring down the barrel of my gun and that the safety's already been pulled back instinctually. Then his eyes dart around the room, confused and wondering where he is before he fixates on one of the windows and gathers his wits.

"Where are we?" he asks, oblivious to the last couple of seconds or maybe just ignoring them.

"Cosmo Canyon," I answer in a low growl, still armed and unwilling to trust him enough to put the gun away just yet.

Then his attention snaps to the other weapon I'm holding in my other hand and he quickly reaches over to his customized holster to find it empty before he glares at me and hisses with his hands possessively covering it, "What are you doing with that?"

And when I don't answer him, he purses his lips and pushes himself off the bed with an exaggerated and austere movement while slicking his hair back, which makes me wonder how long he's been practicing that for since I know he's nowhere near being as proper as he pretends to be.

"I never said you could touch that," he slowly says with such a forced amount of control that I can literally see the opposite pending up inside of him as his eyes burn like the fires of hell are being stoked within.

It has no effect on me though and I'm almost finding it alluring for some strange reason. But I'm not going to let it persuade me from my newfound disgust for him while I lowly confront with an accusatory tone, "You were lovers with Sephiroth."

"Sephiroth?" he asks with that trained denial that he carries as he quirks his brow and looks to the side with those slanted eyes of his, muttering like he's surprised, "I had no idea he was gay."

Then he snorts and looks back at me like he's unimpressed and returns to that stone exterior he carries so well, "And I had no idea you were privy to rumours."

Then he narrows his conniving and lying eyes before he tries to grab his weapon from me and has to pull hard since my grip is unwilling to let him have it. All the while, he ignores the fact that I'm ready to shoot him with the slightest of reasons.

"Let go of it, Vince."

"Vincent."

"If you think I'm going to call you that while you're acting like a scavenging animal, you can forget it," he tells me, forcing himself not to clench his teeth to hide how agitated he really is while he tries to pull it out of my hand again and suddenly glares at me when I refuse again.

"Let go!"

"Not until you tell me the truth."

"You're deranged," he accuses as he continues to try to keep himself under control while still trying to pull it from my grip, "Have you always been this irrational?"

And when I still refuse to let go, he narrows his eyes again and leans daringly close into the pressing force of my gun.

"Or is this the result of Lucrecia's experiment on you?"

It takes all of my will at this moment to keep myself from putting a bullet in him and ending his miserable existence. But instead, I find myself stooping to his level and regretting it the moment the words leave my mouth.

"Maybe you were lovers with one of the remnants as well."

Unfortunately, I can't stop myself and I maliciously add without thinking, "Maybe it would explain why you survived that too."

I suppose the stinging slap to my face is warranted, and I suppose I went a little further than he did as far as boundaries go. And once I let go and he stumbles back from the unexpected release of his precious keepsake, he re-sheaths it and takes on that stone appearance again, hiding all traces that he's capable of feeling anything and he tells me with a controlled and blanketing tone to an inward sting that probably hurt more than the slap I know I deserved, "You _need_ to _leave_."

"I'm sorry," I tell him as he moves passed me like he didn't hear me. Though I know he did, and he makes his way to the bathroom where he closes the door behind him, locks it, and makes a retching sound from the other side, making me realize that I'm making him feel as sick as he's making me feel.

Then I lower my head before staring at the door with a spiralling regret while recalling what he said to me about lies when he brought me to his home in Wutai, and I remember the feeling I had about him talking from experience. And the worst part is, that I don't even know if anything I said or did was justified.


	10. The Nibelheim Mako Reactor

**The Nibelheim Mako Reactor**

* * *

I don't know how long I've been sitting here on this high and crumbling cliff since I did as Tseng requested and left. But it's like I'm attached to him by an invisible chain that only lets me go so far and I guiltily sit with my knees pulled in while the crimson of my cape randomly blows from the high winds like stained waves upon an invisible sea of thickening woe.

I pay little mind to it though, and I pay little mind to the black strands that brush against my cheek and get caught in my eyes and the corners of my mouth. And I don't even concern myself with the soft padding of paws coming unobtrusively closer to me from behind.

Of course, I have little doubt who they belong to. But I'm more concerned about the damage I may have caused since Tseng hasn't come out of the bathroom since I left. And he hasn't run any water to suggest that he has any other reason to still be in there other than the fact that I've made him sick by stirring up something he didn't want to think about.

And although I feel the greatest urge to go back and comfort him—much like I tried with Lucrecia—I know my presence is the worst possible thing for him right now.

Much like it was for Lucrecia.

* * *

"Is everything all right?"

Out of everyone I got to know from Avalanche, Nanaki is the most balanced and maybe even the most comforting in times of need. Mostly because he doesn't pry. Though he exhibits the air that he always knows more than he lets on and he never judges.

He doesn't even seem to mind the fact that I haven't answered him and he thoughtfully nudges my arm with his head, much like a comforting pet would do before he sits beside me with the subtle sound of the beads clicking in his mane and commences to quietly clean the fir on his front paws.

I can't help but wonder how he feels about me bringing Tseng to the land he governs. Though I can't be bothered asking and I wind up removing my glove so I can return the thoughtful comfort he's offering by scratching at the thick fur on his head, soft, opposed to the rough and beaten appearance that he carries on his vibrantly coloured coat.

"That feels nice," he mutters as he twitches his left ear and scoots a little closer, "I've had this troublesome itch behind my ear all day."

"Maybe there's something there," I wonder, even though I voice it before I lean over and brush his fur around to see if he's gotten a bite or a foreign object that I can help him with while lacking any real focus.

And while I'm searching around, I find a small sliver and I pull it out roughly and more reactionary than anything the moment Nanaki observes, "It looks like Tseng is feeling better—Ow!"

"Sorry," I mutter before I rub at the spot to try to make it feel better. Then I mumble without turning my attention away, "What makes you say that?"

"Well, he's left the room."

That's not possible, I think. I've been watching him ever since I left and this is the first time I've turned my attention away, "When?"

"A while ago," he answers before standing up and stretching, "I saw him using the phone in the lobby. He was wearing the clothes you asked me to get for him and he asked me to thank you for your troubles."

"Thank me."

"Yes. He said he appreciated you going out of your way to ensure he was all right."

Despite Tseng's fallacious courtesy and the fact that I'm tempted to say where he can stick it, I find myself stuck on the fact that there's no possible way he could have disappeared without me noticing. In all of my missions as a Turk, I never lost a target. Though I remind myself that he isn't a target and it doesn't change the fact that there's no way I couldn't have noticed him wandering around, using the phone, and leaving.

"Who was he talking to?"

"I assume it was someone from Shinra," Nanaki answers before his eyes turn up at me with an innocent concern.

"Did he say where he was going?"

"Only that he was heading north," he answers with a shrug and returns to cleaning his paws again.

"North," I repeat, dwelling on the fact that north could be anywhere as I stare at the window to the room he was in.

"By transport?"

"On foot."

* * *

Even though I don't doubt that Tseng is a wilful man, I highly doubt he would have set out as far north as the Northern crater. And the fact that he set out on foot leaves me with the hope that I can catch up with him. Though I'm not so sure that it's the best of plans.

But strangely, he left no trail to follow and finding him almost seems hopeless. So instead of trying to guess where he's going, I find my own way north to a place I'd been feeling more drawn to by the day.

Maybe I thought it would help clear my head, and maybe I thought it would help me make sense over what it is that I want or expect from him—and whether he's lying or not. He's been doing it for so long that it's hard to tell, particularly when I get the strong feeling that he's lying to himself as well and starting to believe it.

And if he was being honest, then I'm afraid I'm even more confused and I'm starting to wonder if I'm so stuck on finding something wrong with him that I've managed to imagine the entire scenario of him and Sephiroth on my own. But I'm not sure I'm creative enough to come up with something like that on my own.

Maybe it shouldn't matter, I tell myself once I find a mist-covered path under the waterfalls of my destination. Clean scents fill the air, rising from the wild flowers and flourishing grasses abundant to the area. It reminds me of him again and makes me wish I could shut myself off while I find myself standing there with a reluctance I don't fully understand.

Then I close my eyes while the fine mists from the spray coats my skin enough to make it run down my cheeks like tears.

Only it's cool, and I tilt my head upwards and tell myself that tears are supposed to be warm, and if I recall correctly, they're meant to lift the burdens away. But I no longer know of such luxuries. I haven't been capable of shedding one ever since I was altered and I think Lucrecia shed enough for us both.

It leaves me with nothing but an expelling breath that isn't necessary before I turn my attention down the dark path that leads to a broadening cave where Chaos' origins lay. It's also where Lucrecia's spirit dwindled in a hardened prison of mako built out of her own guilt.

And once I manage to make my way to the large cavern without remembering how I got there, I find myself staring at the empty spot where I last saw her without ever knowing where she'd gone, and I unconsciously hang onto the chain around my neck. I can only hope it was a better place than the one she left behind.

Though it's still something that churns inside of me and I still can't stop myself from viewing this place as a sacred shrine. Nor can I seem to erase the echoing memory that constantly reminds me that the only reason she ever allowed herself to find peace was because I lied to her. And whether she knows that now is unknown to me as I try to find the memory of her voice amidst the deafening silence that I desperately wade through.

But for what, I don't know.

Do I want to admit that I'm seeking her guidance, or even worse, her blessing? After all the things I did and didn't do, I doubt I deserve either. Yet, for some torturous reason, I need it. And it's almost like the feeling of chaos eating away at me—along with the fear of it—while I silently question it in my head since there's no point in voicing it.

She was Sephiroth's mother, and it only seems fitting that I have her permission to pursue something that belonged to him, provided that there was substance to the things I think I know now. And while I stand here with my head down and facing the remains of an emerald-coloured prison broken into shatters, I begin to think that I might know where Tseng has gone.

And I feel even worse, knowing that I'm thinking of him while standing in the remainder of her essence.

* * *

It's the place where Sephiroth was believed to have died the first time—Nibelheim, and I set out on a small thread of hope, knowing that it's not much to go by. And as I suspected, no one in the town has seen him. But it doesn't stop me from searching the areas he could have possibly gone and almost to my disappointment, he's at the last place I wanted to look and exactly where I thought he might be.

Underneath a three-quarter length coat with the collar turned up, he's wearing the solid black turtleneck that Nanaki must have put more thought into than I would have expected, and it's complimented by solid black pants. It's strangely classy enough to be acceptable to him, and yet it's casual enough to allow him the freedom of movement and comfort that he requires, along with the uncanny ability to keep him concealed in the typical black shroud that is reminiscent of him.

There's no way a person with ordinary eyes would have noticed him at first, especially when he's standing so close to the blackened ore that this treacherous mountain is made out of.

"How did you find me?" he asks.

His voice is flat and almost bored sounding while he stares down the cliff's jagged edge that he's standing near, giving him a clear view of the reactor and oddly keeping his own presence concealed as if he's hiding from the ghost's that might live there.

"A hunch," I tell him as I stay back as well, feeling the strange need to remain hidden like him. Though I'm uncertain why. And I wonder if maybe, I'm just following his lead.

"Hm."

For a while, he simply stands there, quietly in the mild breeze while keeping his focus on the rocky grounds below, and I find myself backing farther into the rock as if I'm capable of blending with it. Then he inches closer to the edge and looks farther down, and I feel a slight churn inside before I almost jump to grab him like a fool. But I've caught my cape on the sharp edges of the stones and he's anticipated my darkening concerns and thrown one of his blades at me that pins the other side of my cape to the cliff behind me.

He doesn't turn around though, and he crouches while inching a little closer to the edge while keeping his voice low as if he's only half-focusing.

"You can relax, Vincent."

"Vince," I say, mindless of why I argued and not even realizing that I did.

He jerks his head to the side slightly, as if he's agitated by my lack of thought and then he shakes it before returning his focus to the reactor.

"If I wanted to jump, I would have done it by now," he tells me, knowing where my concerns lay, "Besides, there's always a chance I could survive such a fall."

Then he snorts and mumbles like he's only half-focusing again, "And I doubt I'd like to add that to my list of reasons to wish I'd died in the first place."

Not sure if I should urge him to continue on whatever path he's on right now, I set my focus on freeing my cloak instead, thinking he should have known that it wasn't going to hold me. But maybe he only needed to stall me enough to get his message through.

"I must admit I'm surprised you're here," he mutters, trailing off like his train of thought is shifting. Then he slicks his hair back and crouches down more.

"I was under the impression you'd finally dreamt up a reason to stay away for good this time."

"You'd like that."

"I wouldn't complain."

He's still talking like he's not focusing on what either of us are saying, and when I pull his blade out and untangle the other side of my cloak from the sharp rock it was caught on, he holds his hand back and pushes his coat to the side like he's getting ready to grab another weapon that he either thinks he'll need to protect himself from me or that he'll just throw at me for the hell of it.

"Stay where you are," he says before he leans to the side and keeps his back to me, "I'm afraid I can't afford to be knocked out by you right now," and then he adds with an almost bitter tone, "Again."

"Again?" I repeat, keeping my voice as low as his and not really knowing why we're talking like we're afraid of being overheard. Then it dawns on me that he thinks I'm the one responsible for him passing out, "You think I did something to you?"

"There was no one else present."

"You passed out."

"I don't think so," he says, and then he eases back onto his heels and lets out a bored sigh, "I don't pass out."

After that, he slicks his hair back and mutters under his breath, "At least not for no reason."

"You must be the most obstinate man I have ever come across," I blurt out, almost growling at him before he holds his hand in the air again to tell me not to come near him while I grit my teeth at his action, "You're not invincible Ts –"

"Shut up," he says, almost curtly if not abruptly like I had no right to interrupt him or say anything at all.

Then he stands and shakes a complaint from his leg off and straightens his posture while placing his hand over his ear.

"Shut up?" I repeat under my breath before I decide to ignore his orders, "You're a real –"

"Shhh—you idiot!" he hisses before I'm pushed back against the rock and he's pressing his back against it beside me with his arm held out across my chest to keep me in place. Then he hisses again as he turns to me with those burning eyes of his and I see the earpiece he's wearing.

"I thought you had exceptional senses!"

"You're on a job," I mutter, realizing he's not here for the reason I thought he was and lowering my head over the weight of my assumptions.

"Of course I am," he harshly whispers, "There's no other reason for me to be somewhere like this."

Then he stops and runs his eyes over me like he's suddenly offended and mutters out, "I don't believe this."

"Believe what?"

With a shake to his head, he pushes me farther into the wall of jagged stone and then steps away. All the while, he keeps his eyes locked to me in disbelief.

"You're _sick_, Vince."

"Vincent."

"You thought I came here because this is where _Sephiroth_ died."

The thought crossed my mind, I admit to myself. But I don't dare say it to him, and I ignore the fact that he looks like he wants to explode over me making such a degrading assumption about him.

"I'm not like you," he says, still unable to take that cautious look of his away from me, "I don't waste my time mourning over those that don't deserve it."

"What are you saying?"

"I think you know what I'm saying."

And unfortunately, I do, and as a result I pull out my gun and aim it at him while he scoffs at me and smirks.

"How much do you know?"

"Enough to know that Lucrecia doesn't deserve to have a _parasite_ carry her burdens for her, never mind some _animal_."

"Then you don't know enough," I tell him while I pull the safety back with the intention to carry out the threat.

He ignores me though, and he mutters out, "Shit," while placing his hand over his ear.

Then he moves against the wall so he's beside me again and bats my gun from his direction like it's nothing more than a mild irritation. After that, he pulls out a phone that he must have bought in Nibelheim and grumbles under his breath while dialling, "I know enough."

"You're unbelievable," I tell him before I push the barrel against his temple and he places his hand over my mouth to shut me up, ignoring the gun again.

"Yes—Reno," he says into the PHS, angering me even more while wondering if he called him on purpose just because I'm here and not over the fact that he's not taking me seriously, "Tell Rufus the targets are planning to move out."

Then he crouches down and curls his finger over his mouth while muttering out affirmatives and negatives to his precious little redhead as orders are passed back and forth between Reno, Rufus, and Tseng. All the while, I'm gritting my teeth and putting the gun away even though I'm seriously wanting to beat him with it instead of shooting him.

"Affirmative," he finally says before he stands and stretches his legs out again, and then he says, "Yes. I can handle it," as if he's agitated by the concern his little crush is showing over him.

After that, he hangs up and then looks at me with a start before he shakes his head at me and moves those degrading black orbs over me in distaste.

"Oh, _please_," he sarcastically mutters while he notes the way I'm glaring at him through the abysmal strands of darkness hanging over my face and shakes his head again, "Honestly, Vince. Don't you have something better to do with your life?"

"Vincent."

"Mm," he mumbles before he adjusts his sleeves and pulls out the blades he keeps on his belt, one for each hand, "I don't have time for this."

Then he walks away and makes his way down below through the winding caverns of mako pools while I reluctantly follow and keep my silence. And when we get near the opening that leads to the reactor, he stops and turns around as if he's agitated again.

"You're not following me."

"Yes I am."

"You're not a Turk anymore."

"You've been ordered to take them out," I tell him before I daringly step toward him and ignore his tightening grip on the blades.

"You're going to need my help."

"I don't need your help," he hisses before one of the blades twirl, almost unconsciously in his hand, reminding me of one of Sephiroth's moves before the tip makes a stunning contact under my chin.

"Did Sephiroth teach you that?"

"Actually, there is something I could use your help with," He suddenly says as if I didn't say a word to him. Then he straightens his posture and looks up and to the side as if he's thinking of a brilliant plan. It makes him seem even less trustworthy than he already is.

"I think I'll pass," I tell him, and I bat his blade to the side while deciding to walk away with the sharp sound of my cape flowing through the stale air behind me when I abruptly turn from him.

"Hm," he mumbles, like I did exactly what he wanted me to and when I turn around in realization, he's gone and I'm cursing at him and myself for falling victim to his conniving behaviour.

* * *

I know where he's going though. I overheard enough of his conversation to know that he was ordered to enter the reactor and to take them out and retrieve whatever they were after. And as a result, I find myself at the entrance with an exercised caution over the fact that he probably anticipated that I'd follow, and sure enough, he's taken it upon himself to lay traps.

None of them are lethal though, making me realize that he only wants to slow me down as I curse at the fine thorns in my arm over the tripwire I ignored. Maybe he only wants to pass along the message that he wants me to go away. But I ignore his wishes and pull the thorns out while lowering my head into my mantle, more determined than I was a moment ago. While readying my gun, I commence with ghostly steps and I pass someone that was unfortunate enough to have already crossed his path.

That's one down, I think to myself while I look at the lifeless corpse that never stood a chance. It was taken out quietly and I recall Tseng mentioning to Reno that he counted five voices in total. And as I get closer to the heart of the reactor, I pass three others and grit my teeth while picking at the sticky remainders of the man-made web I got caught in. One of them looks like they were a struggle, I note, before I focus on the clashing strikes of metal on metal as sharp and lightening-quick echoes pierce through the unmoving air.

I look down from the high rails when I approach to see the disconcerting dance of heated battle, almost eloquent and fluid as it's practiced upon the crumbling and cracked platform below. It goes on for longer than it needs to though, and I snort. Then out of nothing more than sheer vindictiveness, I ready my gun and put a bullet through the enemy's temple, taking the glory away just as Tseng is about to take him out with a finishing move.

He stops as if frozen to the core, stunned. Then he takes a deep breath while his lips purse in anger and the blades twirl in his hands before quickly being sheathed. And after that, he snaps his attention up to me like he didn't have to guess at what just happened, or even where the shot came from, and he angrily demands while still heated from the rush of battle, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I had a clean shot," I tell him as if he shouldn't have expected anything else.

Then I twirl my gun before holstering it to show off like I want to ignite the sparks further. And while he glares up at me, I place my hand on the rail and sneer back down at him.

Why I'm doing this, I don't know, and why I'm feeling more alive over it confuses me even more.

But none of it changes the fact that he's not any more impressed than he was to begin with. And he practically hisses at me.

"You need to _leave_, Vince."

"Vincent," I remind him while I notice that I'm not even thinking about whether it bothers me anymore as I do it like it's starting to turn into a mindless game we play simply to drive each other crazy. Then I start to walk to the ladder leading down to him while I drag my hand along the rail and he cautiously watches me with a look that tells me something's not right about what he's seeing.

But whatever's suddenly bothering him or reminding him of something is brushed off and he straightens up to collect himself. Then he slicks his hair back and coolly regards me with those hard and charcoal eyes while speaking in his professional tone that he's starting to lose.

"None of this concerns you, Vince. And you'd be doing yourself more of a favour than me if you'd just return to the pathetic life you lived before you met me."

"Why's that?" I ask him, wondering why I'm feeling even more drawn to him than I was before.

"Because you're even more pathetic now," he hisses, unable to contain his control as he steps back and stops at the wall behind him.

And I stop him from going anywhere else after that by grabbing his jaw with my gauntlet and forcing his attention on me.

"Is that a fact?" I ask him while noting that he makes no attempt to struggle as a spiteful air robs him of his dignity. Then I lean closer and watch his eyes turn from charcoal to caution as I lowly growl at him, "Or maybe you're afraid that you might be betraying someone by not pushing me away."

He snorts at me then and turns defiant and hard before he asks in a tone that tells me I'm an idiot, "Is that what you think?"

Then he snickers at me as I back off and debate over whether I should release him or not while he musically taunts, "Leviathan, Vince. Who are you going to accuse me of sleeping with next? Zack? You know, I spent a lot of time with him too. But that's the thing about being a Shinra employee, they have this crazy idea about having their employees working with each other from time to time."

Now he's just being childish, I think, while I give up and loosen my grip. Then he rubs at his jaw and pushes me out of his way so he can make his way up the ladder while I stand there and try to sort things out in my head. He breaks my concentration though, or lack thereof when he makes it to the top and stares down at me with a darkening look and speaks to me in a hollow voice that sounds like he's trying to stop himself from admitting to what he's admitting to.

"Maybe I'm more afraid of you betraying me, Vince."

Then he pulls out his gun and fires at the hinges of the ladder to drop it from the rails and to keep me trapped. Afterwards, he bitterly states with a sickening sense of blame that drips from his tongue like venom as he backs into the shadows that claim him like a vaporous wraith that, "I'm not the monster that was tampered with by Hojo and Lucrecia."

His voice is dead and hollow, and almost hurt. I can't help but think that he's still lying to me because of it while I watch the disquieting darkness like a lifeless pillar of stone, unmoving and abysmal. It leaves me wishing that I could wash away the memories of betrayal that he's stirring in me by his vindictive attempt to drive me away while the last echo of his voice can barely be heard.

"I don't know why I ever thought thanking you was a good idea. You're nothing but an empty shell."

"You're one to talk," I mutter before I take a good look around for another way out.


	11. We're Not So Different After All

**We're Not So Different After All**

* * *

It's raining when I find another way out through a passage that leads to the mako-veined caves within the obsidian and ragged mountains shadowing over Nibelheim. It's fitting, I tell myself, as I wind up soaked—almost immediately from the downpour that reflects in my ongoing misery.

When I look up to the darkened skies like a shadow of endless foreboding, I'm wishing I could feel as little as it seems to. But I can't and it builds. It builds even more when I look down to the town of Nibelheim. It's faintly lit and the lights almost glow in a sheen of dancing spikes through the distortion of the rain.

Then I stare at the Inn, thinking that's where he might have gone. Though it's likely he may have managed to find passage home by now and I frown at the fact that I'm wondering where he is. After everything he's done and said, the logical step would be to stay as far away from him as I can for both our sakes. But I can't and I choose to reluctantly walk into town, dreading each step and convincing myself that I'm not the only one fighting personal demons.

Nor am I the only one punishing myself, and that maybe if I can't help myself, then maybe I can try to help someone else whether he wants it or not—regardless of whether he deserves it or not.

* * *

As I near the grassy hills on the opposite side of town, I shake off the nagging warnings within myself to stay away. I even shake off the sense that I'm almost hearing Lucrecia's voice saying it to me as the imaginary whispers echo through the unforgiving winds and speak like empty admonitions.

And when I find myself in the direction of the back of the inn where the most private rooms are kept, I unconsciously crouch in the shadows and ignore the heavy drops weighing upon me in their progressing downpour. I also ignore the muddy water seeping into the bottoms of my boots as it runs by. Nor do I bother to wipe the hair that's becoming plastered to my face away as if the effort to seek comfort would make Tseng's accusation of me being a monster more real than I want it to be.

So I tell myself I don't deserve it and I focus on the windows of the inn, looking for any sign that might suggest that he's taken up residence here while thickening water sullied with dirt continues to run passed me.

Maybe he's right, I sarcastically wonder. Maybe he's right about having the need to be wary of me. Maybe he knows more about what I am than I do.

He claimed he did his research on me and I've never been able to find any concrete records kept by either Lucrecia or Hojo. The thought makes my burdens seem heavier when I think that maybe it's because Shinra had already found them and kept them locked away somewhere they deemed safe. And it becomes even heavier when I suddenly think that he could be keeping that information to himself.

Maybe that's the real reason I'm out here, I wonder, stalking him like a sickened addict. But that leads me to my next thought and I begin to wonder if maybe I'm only seeking him for answers instead of the companionship that I've been making it seem like.

_Companionship, _I suddenly think, and I give my head a shake as if the idea is absurd and not worth contemplating.

It's not possible.

And I try to add concrete to the fact that it's not possible by trying to focus harder on the fact that he's the only one I've come across who seems to understand who and what I am, and that maybe he's the only one left that can answer my questions.

But at what torturous price for him will I pursue it and what eternal hell must I pay homage to in order to purchase it?

* * *

To my dismay though, there are no closed drapes. Nor is there any sign of the man that leads me to question more than I thought I was capable of questioning. But I can't seem to stop myself. I also can't help but wonder why I'm out here, staring at empty rooms in search for something that doesn't want to be found.

I can't bring myself to leave when there's nowhere else I can go that would make me feel better though. And as destructive as my thoughts are, I catch myself turning my attention to the mansion and staring at it with unwanted memories of a brighter day.

* * *

"_Lucrecia? What are you carrying?"_

"_I thought you might be hungry and it's a beautiful day for a picnic. Wouldn't you agree?"_

"_I thought you had work to do—In the labs."_

"_I needed a break, and who better to spend it with than my favourite Turk?"_

* * *

Of all the places for me to return to at this moment, it has to be her, and I mindlessly toy with the small orb around my neck without even realizing I'm doing it. I'm also standing on the same hill where she found me that day. Though it was a sunnier day, full of blue skies populated with clouds like white cotton, and I find myself thinking of how we all could have lived better lives.

If only …

I almost feel like screaming, not so much over what they did to me or even at them, but more over what I think I'm doing to myself because of it as I lower my head and clench my fist around the necklace, wondering why I was ever cursed to live this existence to begin with.

Then I turn my attention back to the inn to take one last look before I leave this forsaken land, knowing I never should have come here in the first place. And there he is, ghostlike, almost dead looking and staring at me with those hard and charcoal eyes, piercing as they stand out from his pale and still features. He only stands there, looking stoic and staring right at me as if he's staring into me while I wonder how long he'd been standing there with whatever thoughts he's capable of conjuring.

Maybe he really is a ghost, I wonder as I mind the fact that it's as if he'd appeared from air, and I return the emotionless attention, unsure of whether it's as effective as his. But he's too real to touch and too warm to hold, despite how cold his fixed exterior is. And I mind the fact that he unlatches the window and pushes it open while still maintaining that hardened look of his before he walks away from it as if he's inviting me to step back into the void that's devouring me.

And I do.

It's like I'm being pulled by something I can't see or touch, and I find myself at the small ledge that mimics what could have been a balcony before I step through the barrier to his world for more of whatever it is that I can't get enough of.

I suppose it's my choice of punishment though. Maybe it's what I've chosen for us both since I'm starting to believe I'm not the only one paying the consequence for the mindless things we're doing to each other.

And I stand there, unmoving once I'm in and soaking the wooden floor I'm standing upon while staring into the darkness, I wonder why he hasn't turned the lights on.

"You have no self-respect," he mutters after he emerges from the bathroom and keeps his head down. Then he carelessly throws a towel at me and orders me to close the window before he stares at me and dispassionately comments, "You look like a drowned capparwire."

"Close it yourself," I say under my breath while I drop the towel onto the floor and watch him stare at me like he's someone of importance who's just been offended. And all I can think of is that he does the act so well for some poor little fatherless boy from the outskirts of Wutai, and I can only guess that it's because he's been lying for so long that he doesn't know the difference anymore.

"I should have left you outside," he says, impressing that I'm an ungrateful dog, unworthy of his unkind attention. Then he decides he'll lower himself to doing it himself since I'm putting him out by refusing.

But he doesn't get very far when he tries to walk passed me because I still have some sort of score to settle with him even though I have no idea what it's about. And I'm almost too afraid to think of what I think I might be thinking even though it would set us both free if I just did it and killed him, knowing it would be easy enough from the way I've grabbed him and slammed his back into the wall.

"You're crazed, Vince. Are you aware of that?"

He chokes as his fingers try to work their way below mine so he can try to pry my grip from his throat while my other hand pulls his shirt from his pants and snakes its way underneath it. And I think I'm just as scared as he is when I realize I don't seem to be in control of what I'm doing. But none of it stops his venomous tongue from spitting out accusations.

"You must have a thing for people who can't stand you. Lucrecia tried to push you away too."

"Don't compare yourself to her," I warn him while he jumps nervously and releases his focus from the hand around his neck to push my other one away instead. Then he tries to turn his head away when I lean closer to him and purr in a threatening voice, "Besides, I know you don't want me to stop."

Then I sneer at him and push him away while fighting whatever's gotten into me as he stumbles to gain his balance and posture.

"But you're too much of a coward to allow yourself the risk."

"Leviathan. For a dead thing, you sure are full of yourself," he states and angers me more by snickering about it while he tucks his shirt back in and turns to me in that slick mannerism of his while coyly stating, "why can't you just leave me alone like you did with her."

"Because that was my mistake," I admit before I turn away from him and wipe at my mouth and lower my head, "I let her go."

I've let the guilt consume me ever since.

"And that was the biggest mistake of my life."

"I'm not her," he coldly tells me, even though I don't need to be told and I ignore the offended undertone and the feeling I have over the way he's probably looking at me before he finally closes the window and says as if he's been hit by an epiphany and is disgusted by it just the same, "Leviathan… You're confusing me with her."

"Stop it," I growl before I turn around to glare at the professional Turk with his finger curled over his mouth in thought as he stares at the floor. "Stop thinking you know what's going on in my head like that!"

"It's logical deduction," he states as he takes a few steps forward and washes every last trace of his humanity away, replacing it with nothing more than the man he is when he's working.

"You made a mistake with her and now you think you can rectify it through me."

Then he stops and turns to stare at me with a clinical assessment.

"You're sick, Vince."

And oddly enough, there's nothing offensive about the way he says it even though it offends me.

"Everything they did to you has made you sick."

"Now _you're_ confusing me with Sephiroth," I fire back, not knowing why I'm feeling it's a suitable argument for him deducting that I've somehow managed to merge him and Lucrecia into the same person.

"You're thinking that because I'm the product of the same scientists that I'm going to turn on you the same way that he did."

"Give it a rest."

"Not until you admit to it."

"There's nothing to admit to."

"Yes there is!" I insanely fire back, hoping I'm right as he jumps a little. I can't afford to be going crazy and I make my own deduction while I watch him darken when I tell him what my conclusion is.

"You had an affair with a man that destroyed every last piece of faith that you had and that's why you don't want to be anywhere near me. You're afraid I'm going to lose control like he did and you don't want to be hurt again."

In a sick sort of way, I almost feel proud of my assumption, regardless of whether I'm right or not and regardless off how crazy it might be making me seem to him.

But it all goes to hell the moment he uncontrollably fires back with the burning fires of Hades in his eyes and a shake that makes him look like he's about to fall apart.

He's lost complete control of himself over my insensitive idiocy and he nearly loses his voice when the words spill from his mouth like bile.

"Seven years is _not_ an affair!"

And I'm left speechless.

I never expected him to admit to anything of the nature.

I was expecting to never know and be driven crazy over it like the way everything else about him drives me crazy. And I suddenly don't know what to do, say, or even how to react while he does everything in his obsessive need to control and regain himself and slicks his hair back.

Then he shakes his head and shakily mutters as he turns away, "And he wasn't always a monster."

Somehow, I just don't think, "Sorry," covers it even though I mindlessly say it anyway while he reaches into his pocket and fiddles with his locket again. I almost want to hold him—offer some form of comfort to him. But I'm frozen to the spot I'm standing in.

"I never went for younger men," he mumbles. "In fact, I thought I could deny men altogether—make myself change."

It's as if he's disgusted with himself. The nervous and abrupt snicker that escapes seems like nothing more than a forced cover up for the fool he thinks he is while he stands there and refuses to look at me.

"I tried to live a normal life, Vince. Make everyone happy. Be respectable."

Then he shakes his head and wavers like he's dizzy and suffocating before he spins around and throws his locket at me.

"And I'm constantly paying for it!"

It's the first time I think I've felt lower than my views of him. And I wonder why I had to pursue it as he disappears into the bathroom, slamming the door with a hollow echo and leaving me to wonder why I thought making him admit to it was a good idea.

It was more selfish than anything, I think. And to make matters worse, I think I hate him even less than I thought I would over knowing about it.

"That's why you were curious about me," I mutter to myself as I look down at the locket and debate over whether I want to see Sephiroth's face or not. Then I listen to Tseng turn the taps to the bathroom sink. Cold water, I assume, to cool him off.

"And that's why you dug through my past."

Afterwards, I look over to the bathroom door and lower my head while curling my fingers over his locket.

But there's more than the fact that he'd discovered me by researching Sephiroth to find out what went wrong, I conclude, and I find myself saying it just above a breath.

"You see yourself in me."

And from that, I can only deduct that he not only sees himself, he despises himself too. His harsh judgements are nothing more than a disgusted reflection toward himself. At least, that's what I gather from everything I've seen and heard from him so far. But I'm not sure if he knows that I could never change who or what I was either, no matter how much I struggled with the desire to make it happen.

It's enough to make me wish I could do more than nothing for him as I frown and look back at the locket, thinking of how dead inside we both must be to continue living the way that we do, despite how alive we are on the outside in different ways. But I suppose it's trivial as I turn the locket in my hand and study the fine markings on the outer case, wondering what he's decided to show me and wondering what he thinks either of us has to gain by me looking inside.

But the moment I open it, I think I understand—vaguely. It's not really Sephiroth that he punishes himself for. It's nowhere near what I expected. I don't even know what it's about at first as I stare down at the picture in confusion. Black hair, rosy cheeks, innocent eyes and a rosebud mouth, and I wonder why he's carrying a picture of a little girl that can't be any older than two or three.

Then I suddenly feel drained as a dead weight washes over me like a frozen wave and I recall the letter, the vision, and the way that he always toys with the locket whenever he's in that distant mood he often falls into.

She has his eyes, and it doesn't take me long to realize that it's _'her'_ he was told to blame himself for, and it all falls into place while I reluctantly close the locket. Then I open the bathroom door to see him leaning against the wall opposite to the sink with his arms folded in front of him as he stares blankly at the floor. He's too much of a man to let his emotions out, I conclude, and I almost feel guilty for making him lose it.

"She was your daughter," I say, almost regretting saying it as I place the locket into his listless hand. I have to guide him to hold it out and he mindlessly puts it back in his pocket without responding in any other way. I decide it's best not to voice my other assumptions as far-fetched or real as they might be. But I'm assuming his wife had killed her to punish him and that the man she saw him with was the same man that turned on him in the end.

All I can do about it is shake my head, knowing there isn't really anything I can do or say to bury the ghosts I've surfaced. So I remain silent and grab a towel from beside him. Then I gently wipe at the remainder of the water he must have splashed onto his face to cool himself down.

All the while, he remains dead to me.

I can't help but frown at him, and even at myself as I place a kiss upon his forehead, hoping he'll respond. Anything positive or negative will do right now, but I receive nothing.

"Don't shut me out," I whisper, unintentionally grazing my lips across his skin and closing my eyes as I pull him into my arms. And I take an unsettling comfort in the fact that he does nothing to push me away.

Then I pull him closer and hold him more protectively while I mindlessly stroke his hair as he stares in the opposite direction of me.

* * *

It takes moments that seem like eternity—of me rocking him and wondering if I'm doing the right thing before he finally moves. But he doesn't move away. Instead, he lets out a deep breath as if he'd been holding it and wraps his arms around my waist while repositioning his head onto my shoulder for better comfort.

"It wasn't because I was mourning," he mutters as his arms tighten slightly. "It's just that after what he did in Nibelheim and everything else that happened along the way, I didn't want to be with anyone anymore."

Then he lets out another shaky breath while I continue to mindlessly stroke the back of his head with massaging movements and take comfort in the fact that what Sephiroth did was even too much for Tseng's stomach.

"Then when I found out he was still alive and I ran into him at the temple…"

"You've gone that long?" I insensitively ask, hoping to take him slightly off the path he's heading on and not about to deny the fact that I'm curious about whether or not Sephiroth was the last person he was with.

He doesn't answer me though. Instead, he takes another breath and regains himself.

Then he pulls away and frowns at me before erasing whoever he was just a second ago and focuses on my soaking clothes and probably the fact that he was letting me hold him while they were like that.

"You're soaked," he mutters.

Then he straightens up and starts undoing the buckles on my cloak. But he's not exhibiting his usual arrogance as he does it and he appears almost human and soft.

And as he pulls it from my shoulders and walks to the tub to hang it over the curtain rod, he continues as if a weight is being lifted.

"When I looked into his eyes, I realized that whoever he was wasn't the same man I knew before he went to Nibelheim, and I felt relieved," he tells me with his back to me.

Then he grabs the towel I used to wipe his face off and comes back over to me to dry my hair with it.

"That creature wasn't Sephiroth," he confides while I brush his hair behind his ear and he shakes his head to remove my touch. "That creature was what destroyed him."

He still won't look me in the eye right now though. And I'm not really sure how to interpret it when he finally does. I'm even less sure how to interpret what he asks next, or even if I should encourage him to go on.

"Do you know why I was relieved that he was dead?"

"No," I say, deciding that I actually do want to know even though I'm not sure if I really want to hear it.

"I was relieved because it meant that I could go back to lying."

Then he tilts his head while he crimps the towel over the ends of my hair and keeps his focus on what he's doing instead of on me.

"I was never fond of the fact that I'm attracted to men, Vince. I always viewed it as a weakness."

He smiles at that though. Although I can tell he's being genuine and is genuinely bothered by it.

"But weak, I am," he admits, and his smile turns coy while he looks back at me with that glint that's almost impish when he confesses, "But I'm even weaker than that."

"How's that?" I ask, knowing that I'm asking exactly what he wants me to.

"Because I was never very good at staying faithful to one person," he says before he pauses while studying me again and stepping back.

Then he sneers in disgust, but not in regard to me this time.

"I tried. I even tried with Marina. But I could never stop myself from falling to temptation."

And at that, he quirks his brow and looks to the side while muttering, "How's that for another reason to stay away from me?"

He's not really asking as much as he's trying to reconfirm his lack of worth to himself and trying to convince me that he's not worthy of my time.

Then he tosses the towel at me and points at the robe supplied by the inn, suggesting that he wants me out of my soaking clothes and into something dry.

During which time, I don't dare voice the cruel thought that runs through my head about me never having to worry about him straying because it would require that he'd have to take his clothes off, and he won't do that anymore.

And I can't help but suddenly realize that the more effort he puts into trying to drive me away so he can continue to live out his miserable lie that he calls a life, that it makes me want to be with him even more. And the next thing I know is that I've gotten a grip on his shoulders and he's facing me and demanding that I take off my gauntlet because the damned thing is digging into him.

And I never bothered to change.

I'm still soaking and I completely ignore him complaining about it before my mouth meets his and his hands change from trying to push me back to crawling up the back of my neck. Then he unclasps Lucrecia's necklace so he can throw it to the floor while I do the same with that ridiculous weapon that Sephiroth gave to him.

As far as I'm concerned, we might as well suffer together since neither of us can stop ourselves anyway, and I can't help but feel that he's reached the same conclusion as his hands find my buckles and I lift him onto the low dresser, knocking everything off of it so our hips are at the same level.

He may have amazing legs—as long and slender as they are—but he's still shorter than me and I suddenly realize that there is something physical that I find attractive about him. Besides all of his confusion and agony, and his hypnotic eyes, he has the most incredible legs, and I suddenly want him to wrap them around me while he insists that I take the damned gauntlet off again.

Fine.

_I'll take the damned gauntlet off,_ I tell myself as I pull back and nearly rip it from my arm before throwing it at something that crashes. Then I suddenly wonder if it's even possible for him to wrap his legs around me and I wonder if he'd oppose to trying. All the while, I don't think either of us is really concerned with whatever it was that I broke.

And once I manage to get his pants off, he answers my question for me by remaining as he was and pulling me closer while undoing my own pants and doing what I wanted him to. He locks them around my hips and moans when I start to rediscover him while I'm wishing he'd quit screwing around and take my pants off faster.

"Leviathan," he mutters when I run my tongue along the parts of his neck I can get access to and he moves his head to accommodate me better.

Then he pushes down on my shoulder and illegibly mumbles, "Go down on me."

For a moment, I think about it before I push him back by the shoulder with a rough nudge and tell him, "No," while he snickers over it and runs the palm of his hand over my upper back.

"You might like it."

"I don't think so," I tell him as he quickly jumps to stop me from taking his shirt off and suggests that he'd like it while he pushes my pants down with his feet.

"I'd like it if you'd take the damned shirt off," I mutter while struggling with the tight neck on it and tugging at it to try to loosen it.

"No."

"I've already seen you."

"I don't care," he mutters before he quickly adds as a breathy afterthought that refers to me not doing what he wants me to do either. I'm sure of it.

"We don't always get what we want."

"The lights are out," I state, frustrated as I pull back to meet his glazed eyes and he stares back at me with a dignified quirk to his brow while holding the bottom of his shirt down to stress the fact that he thinks he's the one who makes up the rules.

Then he coolly asks as if he's chastising me at the same time in an almost melodic tone, "Do you want to do this or not?"

"F—"

Why even say it, I wonder while I catch myself and refrain from not only behaving like his scavenging pet but talking like one too.

Then I sneer at him with narrowed eyes and say to hell with it as I rip the shirt down the centre and push him back so I can watch him cringe unnecessarily.

Afterwards, I think that those uncertain eyes that almost make him appear cross-eyed at times must be what gets me every time as he looks to the side. It's as if he thinks he can hide himself by refusing to acknowledge it and he partially sucks back on his bottom lip like a child.

I'm taken for a moment, and I ignore the self-conscious discomfort I'm causing by staring at him as I watch the shadows of water streaking down from the window behind us. It runs down his sunless and cruelly marked skin that's almost glowing from the silvery light of the moon from outside.

He carries so much more life than my own bloodless skin and I catch myself holding his arms away, spreading them out like a bird so he can't shield himself from me.

I remember telling Cloud that he had it coming once, and I suddenly wonder how little I really deserve from him due to that fact. Then I lean toward him with an unspoken guilt and a gentle respect for his comfort, knowing it will never be enough to make up for any of the mistakes I keep making.


	12. The Sum of Gil

**The Sum of Gil**

* * *

At some point during the night, we wound up in the bed and entwined. I remember running my hands over him and him confessing that my assumptions were right about how he knew so much about me. But it wasn't after Sephiroth died at Nibelheim since his hands were tied by Shinra then, and Hojo was always in his way.

Instead, it was after Sephiroth stabbed him.

"Since everyone thought I was dead, I was able to research him without any interference."

He still leaves out the part about how he managed to survive when he confesses about why he was obsessed with researching what happened to his lover though. But I suppose I couldn't blame him for wanting to find everything he could concerning the man he'd given up so much for.

And I doubt I should have been surprised that my name appeared within some of those records.

"It wasn't until I woke up in that hospital that you dropped us off at and someone mentioned your name that I remembered something about you from the records I found," he tells me as he leans farther into me when I refuse to let him pull away.

"So you went back to find out what it was."

"Mm," he mumbles in confirmation before he intertwines his fingers with mine, "you were there when it all started."

"I was," I admit. Then I cuddle my arms more firmly around him and brush my lips over his shoulder.

"I never paid attention when I first came across them that you were the one that tried to stop them."

"I didn't try hard enough."

"No," he agrees with a subtle shake to his head.

Then he tries to turn around and I stop him, still not wanting to be separated just yet as I return to smoothing my hands over his torso and kissing the sensitive parts of his shoulders.

"But I don't think there's anything you could have done."

"Why's that?"

"Because they'd already injected the cells into the fetus before you found out."

Then he falters for a moment and quirks his brow as the thought that he voices strikes him, "Unless you were intending to kill the child."

But I don't answer him. Instead, I close my eyes as I merely go back in time and literally hear Hojo's gun going off before I fall to the ground with a suffocating thud and overhear the beginnings of the lewd ideas of what he's going to do with what's left of me.

Everything he does fails though, only for Lucrecia to discover that the stagnant Lifestream he tried to bring me back to life with made me the perfect host for her discovery—Chaos.

She claimed it was to save my life and he accused her of doing it for nothing more than fame for what she'd found, and I've never known which one of them was right. Nor have I ever been the same as I literally start to tremble from the sudden sense of self-loathing over what I've become.

And after what feels like an eternity of dead silence, I think I hear Tseng's voice in the distance calling my name as if it's from a dream. He's not calling me Vince though. He's calling me Vincent.

_Why?_

He's also telling me to gain control.

I don't know if I'm dreaming and I have no idea what the other unfamiliar sounds are either. I even fear that I may be hurting him due to the fact that I can't seem to pull myself out of whatever dreamlike nightmare I think I might be in before I find myself praying to the gods that never listen that I'm still me while my insides coil in on themselves, like I'm retracting.

Or more accurately, trying to run away.

* * *

I don't know what happens since then.

The last thing I recall after another long silence is Tseng standing by the side of the bed with his gloves on and muttering out, "Cure2," before leaning over and placing a kiss on my forehead. Then he sits beside me. He's wearing his suit, and even in my confusion, I'm wondering where he got it from and when he put it on.

"Don't take it personally, Vince," he quietly says as he stares straight ahead and subtly sighs. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Then he slicks his hair back and blows a fine powder into my face, making me jump from the unexpected surprise as he leans over me and tests the ropes around my wrists before I realize I'm tied up, and he nods to assure himself. After that, he gently lifts the lid of my eye with his thumb so he can make some sort of assessment that I don't think I want to know about.

"I really hate to do this," he tells me, sounding strange and underwater as a dizzying weight starts to overpower me and I feel slightly sick from it, "I really do like you."

Then he brushes his gloved thumb over my bottom lip and breathes out through his nose before saying, "But I'm afraid it will never work between us—as appealing as you can be at times—and I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave now. I hope you'll understand."

With another sigh, he sits back and pats me on the inner thigh and stands before straightening his suit and slicking his hair back again. Then he looks at his watch and leans toward the dawning light of the day hazily shining through the window and creating a halo of gold shining from his skin and the exposed parts of his white shirt. And when I hear the garbled sound of a helicopter echoing dully through my ears and the stale scent of dust that it must be stirring up, I find myself cringing.

I'm not sure exactly what it is that's making me cringe though.

"Well," he says as he straightens up again and regards me one last time, "I know those ropes won't hold you for long. But please, Vince, have the decency to take this as a hint if not an outright message to quit following me."

He shakes his head then and mutters in a way that can barely be heard, "You're a good man… You deserve better."

Then he picks up a metallic case that I didn't notice the night before and he walks toward the door before stopping and turning to me.

"By the way, you were great last night."

After that, the bastard smiles at me and pops what I'm assuming is a hard candy or a chocolate into his mouth, not that it matters, before he leaves me there, vulnerable and with the spell of sleep to keep me at bay and the restraints to slow me down from picking up his next trail—should I be fool enough to pursue him.

And finally, I give in and close my eyes while questioning who the real monster is between us and cursing myself for falling compassionate toward him when he obviously doesn't deserve it or even need it.

Of course, it wasn't like he didn't warn me.

* * *

When I finally awaken hours later, I'm still disoriented and unable to focus. Whatever he drugged me with wasn't the typical dream powder that I originally suspected it was, and I can only assume that it was some sort of hybrid. I can hardly grab onto the rope since my vision keeps slipping, multiplying everything I look at and mercilessly spinning it around.

Whether it's something he has access to because of his medical status or if it's something Shinra has been working on seems unimportant while I struggle to gain a small enough amount of focus to untie myself. Or at the very least, the ability to loosen the ropes enough for relief will do.

Then all the sudden, a tingling wash crawls out from the centre of my spine, spreading like frozen water being released from a vessel and I hear a dark and familiar chuckle, deep. It's from the realms of death itself, I realize, as the ropes snap on their own and I quickly stumble to the floor, almost falling to blindly search for my gun. And although I can't see or even verify what I'm mindlessly shooting at, I fire off as many shots as I can, emptying the chamber while frantically rubbing at my eyes with the palm and back of my other hand to try to clear them out.

But there's no one here except for charred marks on the floor that look like they might be the result of Tseng's 'beta' spell, and then I suddenly remember him muttering 'cure2' over me while wearing his gloves. I can only assume that we must have had company at some point during the night and that Chaos must have manifested, given the way I recall him yelling at me as if he were commanding a dog to heel.

Other than that though, I have no idea what might have happened. I can only speculate. And I have no idea when Tseng must have dressed me either, or even why. Nor do I know why he used the revive materia on me. And to top it off, I have no idea why the ropes snapped like they did while I run my hand along the floor in search of my gauntlet and continue to rub at my eyes to clear out the blurry haze while the scent of used gunpowder settles around me.

To make matters worse, I'm beginning to wonder if Chaos had manifested and attacked him and that maybe he had to attack me back to defend himself. If only I could remember. But I guess I'm not going to get anywhere by speculating on what may or may not have happened, and when I catch a fuzzy image of the glaring colour of garnet through the corner of my eye, half-lying on a chair and running down to the floor, I quickly grab it and blindly fumble with the buckles to fasten it back on before finding the rest of my armour and clumsily stumbling to find my way out.

When I make it to the bottom of the stairs with my face buried into my mantle and behind a heavy veil of hair, the woman at the counter calls my name, and the only reason I stop is because she knows it. Confused and curious at the same time, I reluctantly turn to her while still hiding behind my hair and cloak as she places what looks like an envelope on the counter and pushes it toward me.

"The man that left asked me to give this to you."

At first, I just stare at the glaring white object, blinking hard to try to focus on what it is until I realize I'm making her more uncomfortable by the second by doing so. Then I wonder if I should just leave it there and tell her to tell him where to stick it. But curiosity has the best of me as I'm sure Tseng would have anticipated, and I fall for the bait.

I'm not about to let him dictate all of my actions like the puppet he thinks I am though. And I refuse to open it after I quickly step up to the counter with aggressive steps as the sound of armoured metal hits the wood and the woman nervously steps back. Then I angrily snatch the envelope, nearly scrunching it like garbage and scratching the desk with the claws on my gauntlet before stuffing it into my pocket like I never want to see it again.

I turn sharply after that, angered by his audacity and causing the crimson of my cloak to slash through the dead air behind me, making everything seem dramatic and ignoring that fact just the same. It isn't until I get to the door that I suddenly realize how odd, for lack of a better word, my behaviour seems while I try to stop rubbing at my eyes again.

And as I place my hand on the door's handle, I shamefully lower my head and turn it only enough to acknowledge her.

"Thank you," I mutter, attempting to prove I can be more civilized than the beast I'm behaving like before I step into the glaring light of the day and shrink back when I see the blurry image of dark blue and gold walking out of the new items shop across the way.

* * *

The day's already begun and it can't possibly get any worse, I think to myself as I cringe when the familiar sound of Cloud's sombre voice calls my name in greeting and I wonder if it's possible to make myself completely invisible even though it's too late. I don't know why I'm feeling this way though, because if I think hard enough about it, me being in Nibelheim is no stranger than him being here.

Of course none of those points help alleviate the fact that small-talk always takes precedence, and the first thing Cloud asks me after I acknowledge him back is, "Is everything all right? You don't look so good."

Why I'm thankful that he didn't ask me why I'm here makes no sense since I could easily point at the mansion towering over us and he'd be able to fabricate something in his head by assuming I'm taking a walk down memory lane or attempting to research more about myself again.

And it would have been easier than searching for the excuse I eventually come up with when he steps closer and asks me, "What's wrong with your eyes?"

It's not necessarily a lie though, since I'm starting to categorize Tseng into the same category of all the other monsters running loose, and I tell him, "Sprayed in the eyes."

"By what?" he asks as he leans closer and stares at me in a way that I can't make out while I go to rub at my eyes again so I can see him better and he stops me.

"I think that'll only make it worse," he says before he comments that I should probably flush them out and then he suspiciously asks me again, fully noting that I didn't answer him the first time, "What was it?"

One of Shinra's secret experiments, I think to myself, wondering if that's exactly what he is, never mind what he sprayed me with while I bitterly try to swallow it back so I can quit passing all the blame.

"A crown lance," I tell him, thinking that will do just fine since their stingers have been known to spray sometimes, and he lets out a thoughtful, "Mm," and guides me over to his bike.

"I have some solution in storage," he says as he starts to dig around in his storage compartments and I stare at his bike, suddenly thinking that it would be fast enough to get me back to Tseng so I can settle the score while trying to convince myself that I'm in no condition to drive it while another part of me relentlessly argues. Then he turns around and asks me if I'm planning on staying while he hands me a small cup to rinse my eyes with.

"No," I tell him, sounding more definite and angry than I intended as I take the cup he filled and bring it to my eye.

"You going back home?" he asks while I wonder exactly where home would be even though I know he's talking about Kalm.

And I figure I might as well say, "Yes," since it's close enough to where I really want to go and it will spare me from any awkward question that might stem from any other answer.

"Hm," he mutters as he watches me in silence. Then he hands me the bottle of solution so I can take care of my other eye and points at the weapons shop.

"I just need to get one of my swords sharpened. Then I'm heading back to Edge," he tells me before pointing his thumb back at his bike. "If you want, I can drop you off on my way back."

_You're actually going home?_ I think, knowing better than to voice it while I figure that he's probably the best opportunity I've got to get close enough to the farm.

"Thanks," I say, more or less stating that I'd like that before it looks like he nods and makes his way to the weapons shop. Then I dump the cup to refill it so I can flush out my other eye.

But I stop for a moment, noting that the solution only seemed to help a little, but enough for me to make out what's in the envelope Tseng left for me. And even though I doubt I want to see what it is, I can't help my curious nature as I blink a few times and hesitantly pull it out of my pocket as if I'm about to go over some kind of contract with the devil.

For a moment, I take a look around to ensure that I'm alone before I set my attention on the weapons shop and wonder why I'm concerned about someone seeing me open it. Then I shake my head while wondering if I'm ever going to get over this distrustful paranoia I suffer from, even though I know where it all stems from. And I let out a habitual breath that isn't necessary as if I need to cling to whatever humanity I can mimic, and I open the cursed envelope only to wind up clenching my fist around it in the semblance of suddenly wanting to strangle Tseng once I get a chance to fully know what it is.

There's fifty-thousand Gil from what I can make out, as if the Turk-bastard's stating that he owes me for my services and I'm tempted to stomp on the damn contents and set it on fire in the middle of the streets of Nibelheim. Then I suddenly think that I'd feel better if I personally rammed it down his throat right before I put a bullet between those miserable eyes of his, black as his soul if he even has one. Or better yet, I can watch those charcoal embers burn out as I strangle him to death.

I'm overreacting, I tell myself, knowing that it's probably not the best of plans to hunt him down like the animal he thinks I am over what he probably considers to be a small amount of Gil, despite whatever services were rendered. And I catch myself staring at the blurry image of Cloud's bike and squinting from the painful glare of the sun hitting the metal. I convince myself again that I'm in no condition to operate it before I turn to stare at the weapons shop and wonder how much longer he's going to be.

And once the thought of waiting longer than I want to passes through my mind, I find myself obsessively walking towards the bike with an uncontrollable pull while putting the cash back in my pocket and saying to hell with rinsing my other eye out. None of it goes with my better senses that are telling me to calm down, think clearly, and that I'm overreacting. But none of my better senses are sinking in right now, even though I know what they are and I climb onto the bike as if I'm possessed and start it up, ignoring Cloud as he runs out of the weapon's shop yelling something at me.

It could be something about me not being in the right condition to drive or the fact that he's not too impressed with me stealing his bike and leaving him stranded in Nibelheim, of all places. But I'm too far-gone at the moment to care about what his concerns are, and I'm just not willing to process any of what he's saying as I hit the accelerator and leave his protests in an angry cloud of dust behind me. Then I rub at my eyes again and try hard to focus enough on my surroundings so I can make it to my destination in one piece.

* * *

The journey is challenging, making me angrier with Tseng by the second for my lack of clear vision as I travel passed and through more near-misses than I'm willing to count. All the while, I constantly rub at my eyes only to discover that it's only making them worse instead of better. They're hazier and burning now.

I don't doubt for a second that he knows what he's done and what effect it's having on me either as I decide that I'm far enough away from Cloud and civilization as a whole to pull over without anyone interrupting me. And I spend more time than I need to arguing with myself to do it so I can try that solution of Cloud's on my eyes again and hope it will help a little like it did the first time.

And that's exactly what it does.

It helps a little.

By the time I make it to the farm, it's nearly dark and my eyes have cleared up enough to make out more subtle lines and details. It's still not enough to see clearly though, or as well as I would like to. And as I creep around the farm, I discover that Reno and Rude are nowhere to be found, leaving only Rufus to drive Elena crazy as she remains in his office with him to guard him. And I can only assume that Tseng is in his home.

And that's exactly where I go, clenching my teeth, lowering my head, and hatefully narrowing my eyes as I do so. I don't even think I'd care if Reno or Rude were present while I determinedly walk with quickening steps through the shadows of the darkening skies.

Of course, it's no surprise that Tseng still has all his curtains closed so I can't see where he is, what he's doing, or even if he's there or alone for that matter—not that it would make a difference at this point. And as I close the distance while drawing inward and sneering, I make my way to his bedroom window, remembering that the latch on it was broken even though it didn't seem to be anything to take note of the first time.

I can't help but snort over the fact that it takes little to no effort to open it as if he's inviting someone to come in and kill him, or something else. But I shake those thoughts off as I open it with little care over how much noise I make and step through before closing it with an obvious bang, only to be met with a knife flying at me from the direction of his bedroom door.

Not that it would have made much difference other than the ache, I still anticipate it enough to dodge it. Though it catches the end of my cloak and nails it to the wall just below the window's sill. All the while, the smug bastard is holding a cup of tea in his hand and taking a sip as if nothing out of the ordinary is transpiring.

Whether he's doing it on purpose just to piss me off or whether he really is that smug and intolerable, I'm still trying to figure out as I throw the insulting Gil at him, scattering it all over the place as it flutters through the air. Then I quickly tear the end of my cloak, leaving a patch of it stuck to his wall, and I lunge at him over his bed before he lands on his back with my fist clenching his tie and tightening it while he ignorantly complains that I made him spill his tea and that it was hot.

I couldn't care less about his damn tea as he struggles with my fists and tries to loosen the grip of me nearly choking him to death with his damn tie though, and I demand that he tells me what the hell he drugged me with.

"What did you drug me with?"

"Apparently… not enough," he chokes out before I finally meet my wit's end and pull out my gun with every intention to kill him if he doesn't stop playing with me.

"Quit playing with me and tell me!"

"Quit playing with you?" he repeats as he continues to struggle while defiantly staring at me, "The only person playing with you is yourself, Vincent."

"Vince!"

"Listen to yourself," he angrily spits out. "You'll find any reason or excuse to argue with me… fight with me."

Then he sneers at me when I pull back the safety on the gun.

"You'll even go so far as to come up with any reason to justify your excuse for wanting to kill me."

"You think you know what's going on in my head?"

"Yes," he answers before he quickly jerks his head and corrects himself. "No."

Then he grunts when my fist tightens more on his tie.

"I know I'm right about what I said. But other than that, I have no idea what goes on in that animalistic head of yours… You operate on primitive instincts that even I don't understand."

"I think you understand it better than you think you do," I accuse him, not even caring that I'm completely contradicting my previous argument while he snickers at me and quirks his brow like he catches the irony.

Then he narrows his eyes and stares at me, dead-on.

"I certainly have to say that I admire your integrity, Vince," he says, refusing to grimace when I jerk at his tie to remind him that my name is Vincent, "Once you set your mind to something, there's no going back for you, Is there?"

"You're right," I admit, to more than I care to admit to, and I convince myself that I'd be freeing us both as my finger tightens on the trigger and he stares at me like he honestly doesn't care.

Even his voice is dead and unconcerned when he evenly tells me, "When you're done with me, Vincent, at least have the decency to be honest with yourself when you continue to run like the hunted dog that you'll become."

"Honest about what?" I flatly ask, unwavering from my intentions.

"Honest about the fact that you never did like me," he tells me, like there's no argument that could convince him otherwise as he shortly explains, "It was the idea…"

Then he grimaces, but not from my loosening hold while breathing out, "The memory and the reminder of who you used to be is what you fell in love with… Not me…"

And then he tells me, almost like he means it though I think his motives are more digging than that as he closes his eyes and almost smiles, "It'll help you sleep at night."


	13. Tugging

**Tugging…**

* * *

**Okay, well, I know I have a strange sense of humour. It's probably not even a funny one. But I really had no intention to post the wrong chapter for the wrong story last night. For those of you that read last night's posting, you know what I'm talking about. For those of you that didn't, I'll just sweep it under the rug and pretend that it never happened.**

**Well, on that note, I deeply apologise for being retarded, and I think I know the reason I felt really weird last night now. Anyway, hopefully this chapter will make up for that incredibly embarrassing mistake, and maybe one day, I'll even learn how to spell embarrassing without needing to use the spell checker. **

**One would think I'd be all too familiar with that word by now.**

* * *

Right to the bitter end, he does everything to stay bitter. He even waits patiently while I second guess myself and wonder if that was his intention all along—to make me doubt.

"What are you doing and why are you doing it?" I ask, accuse, and say as I ease the pressure of the gun against his head and tilt it so I can stare at the small tattoo of the dot between and above his solid brows, and I suddenly wonder what it stands for.

"Breathing," he dryly answers, suggesting that I'm an idiot for asking and causing me to tighten my grip on his tie as a warning. He ignores it though, and he intrepidly tells me why he's doing it, "Because it's a necessity for me."

And at that, I wind up fighting the urge to beat him with the gun instead—to hell with shooting him. It would probably be doing him a favour anyway, and I'm not entirely convinced that he deserves the easy way out. I'm also not entirely convinced that he even cares or is surprised that I've changed my mind as his eyes slowly turn to me and he sighs, and I wind up scoffing at the soft look in them. He's probably been practicing for years for such occasions since I almost believe it's genuine.

"I left you the money because I felt that you needed it," he evenly says.

Though his lips are slightly tense and I don't recall that being the answer I was last demanding from him.

"I knew you'd be upset. But I also knew that you had none."

Then he sighs again and squirms for comfort while gratingly adding, "Actually, I hoped you'd be upset."

After that, he jumps a little when my knee falls near his groin, suggesting that his attempt to squirm away may not be in his best interest or even that I'm impressed with the fact that he has the audacity to say half the things he says. Then he continues, almost like he wants to explain if not to needle further.

"But having you hunt me down wasn't exactly the effect I was going for… I was actually hoping for the opposite."

"You'd like nothing more than to never see me again," I conclude, wondering what the night before was all about and feeling used before I show my uncertainty over my lack of conviction, or worse, my hope, "Then why did you invite me in?"

I can't help but suddenly think it was a setup from the moment he opened his window so he could use Chaos like he did in Gongaga. Only he planned it that time. He probably knew he was going to have visitors and he probably even lied about everything else as well, knowing that he can act when he wants to. And I feel even sicker over the money than I did when I first looked at it in Nibelheim.

The bastard paid me for getting the job done.

"Leviathan… You're not right in the head," he mutters, taking me away from my thoughts and almost making me want to shoot him again while he stares at me like a scolding parent and quirks his brow, "It's not what you're thinking."

"How would you know what I'm thinking?"

"I don't," he tells me before he pulls his tie loose when I finally let go and he rubs at his forehead where the barrel of my gun was pressing, "but I know what I would think if I were in your shoes and I can only assume that you're thoughts are similar."

"You're not capable of putting yourself in other people's shoes," I tell him before he sneers at me and rolls his eyes back. Then he lightly pushes his palm against my chest as a subtle request for me to let him up.

"Fine, Vince. You want to believe that I'm some kind of heartless and cruel abomination…" he starts, feigning insult as he tries to squirm upward since I won't get off of him, "Then so be it… You're half right anyway."

And when I grab him by the shoulders to stop him from getting away, he knits his brows in irritation and glares at me.

"But just keep in mind that I'm not the one taking advantage of someone this time around, or making a mockery out of them just because I can."

"You're unbelievable," I mutter while thinking that it's exactly what he's been doing all along, and all he does is disbelievingly laugh about it.

"Unbelievable?" he dryly repeats, chastising in tone before he starts to accuse me of things I never thought of and probably never would have. At least, not from his point of view.

"Who was it that followed who and found out that I was… that I might have found you… _some_ aspects about you… attractive and decided to take advantage of it by forcing yourself on me at the first opportune moment? And you want to talk about playing with someone's head…? You won't leave me alone. You follow me everywhere and then you tell me to go away, and to top it off, you're either trying to kill me because of your own inability to control yourself or ram your tongue down my throat, and I never know what the hell to expect from one moment to the next."

I almost recoil inside, fearing that he's right even though I don't want to admit to the fact that I might be hating him for all the same reasons that I hate myself. Or worse, wanting him for those reasons. I'm sure I could find a way to withdraw at this moment and stop listening. But part of me almost thinks I need to hear it like an addict needs a drug.

"And every time I think I'm finally free of you, you come back angrier, more obsessive, and more dominating—each time. And why should it matter to you? You're not the one that has anything, or _everything_ to lose over it…"

And for a moment, he falters, realizing he's saying more than he wants to even though he can't seem to stop while I continue to recoil over the fact that he might be right.

"It's not your feelings that will get hurt, Vince. You're not capable of feeling on a human level anymore, and I'm not something you would have gone after if you were. You'll eventually grow tired of it when the novelty of screwing something you're not even attracted to wears off. Then you'll move on and you'll find yourself something you were more suited for.

"Either that, or you'll wind up turning into one of your monsters and you'll try to dominate the world or destroy it. Or probably more accurately, you'll wind up realizing that nothing is better than something and you'll forget all about the void that you tried to fill your pathetic life with for whatever purpose it served."

Snakes can't spit as much venom as he can, I think to myself, oblivious to his words and listening at the same time. But it's not the insults that are digging under my skin. I think I know where they stem from. No, it's something else that's needling at me and I think it's the fact that I think he's degrading himself without even realizing it.

Or maybe he does.

"Void," I repeat, and I wonder how deep of a subconscious level he's at when I wonder if he's even aware that he was referring to himself as 'it' and 'something', and if he's even aware that he feels that way about himself and if he's always felt that way. And for some unknown reason, it makes me think and ask what might be the most off-topic question I can come up with.

But it feels relevant for some unknown reason.

"Where's your father?"

And all the sudden, he stops trying to get away and disbelievingly stares at me for a moment, blinking but expressionless.

Then his eyes suddenly appear darker—if it's even possible—before a fire literally burns in them when he spits out under his breath, "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

Maybe everything or maybe nothing, I think, while I remain silent and wait for him to quit behaving like everything I do and say somehow diminishes every thread of dignity that he never had to begin with. But he's not easily intimidated by silence, or anything else for that matter, and instead of answering, he pushes me up, roughly and too quick for me to see it coming, and he somehow manages to get his leg far enough up to knee me in the gut, forcing me back.

Then he quickly turns so he can push himself up and grunts like he's in pain before his hand covers his stomach and the fingers of his other hand dig into the floor.

"What's wrong?" I ask, suddenly forgetting about everything that's transpired and rubbing at my eyes as I rush over to him to make sure he's all right.

"You're a harebrained menace," he mutters while clenching his teeth and sarcastically adding, "that's what's wrong."

Then he pushes me back and stands like there is nothing wrong with him and he tells me in the bitterest of tones, "I don't see how you can expect me to believe that you're actually concerned when you were just trying to kill me a second ago."

After that, he walks out of his room and hides the fact that he's physically hurt. But I can tell by the way his hand is slightly tense and the fact that the other one is still over his gut and gripping inward. I also can't help but notice he hasn't told me, or even asked me to leave yet. If I didn't know any better, I'd go so far as to say that he waved his hand at me to follow him—as subtle as it is before he stops between his small kitchen and the modest living room with an afterthought and a heavy sigh.

"It's a hybrid," he says, making me wonder what the hell he's talking about while he takes a moment to look over at his cupboards and then walks toward them to find a replacement for his teacup. And I mindlessly follow him as far as the door to his room, holding my own gut from his well-aimed kick and leaning against the frame to keep my distance from him.

"What?"

"The dream powder… It's been used on patients for surgery for over a decade now," he tells me with his back to me as he fills his new cup and I suddenly wonder if he changes topics on purpose for the same reasons I do—as a manner of avoidance.

"So you needn't worry. It's harmless and will wear off in due time."

"So you're not going to tell me," I conclude, falling back to the question about his father, pushing his buttons slightly and asking, "Was he abusive?"

He snickers at that though, ruling out that thought or simply masking it by doing so as he turns around while steeping his tea bag.

"Firstly, I never knew the man, nor did my mother. And secondly, I don't see why I owe you any kind of explanation."

His entire mannerism is stoic when he says that, and it takes a moment for the oddness of his comment to sink in while he turns around and starts pouring his sugar into his cup, making me wonder why he even bothers with the tea.

"One night stand?" I ask, thinking that it happens to the best of us while he taps his spoon on the edge of his cup with a low clank and turns around while taking a sip.

Then he licks his lips and walks past me to sit on his sofa, doing his best to hide another grimace before he coolly says as he sets his cup on the coffee table beside a pile of papers that he proceeds to flip through, "I thought I made it clear that I didn't care to discuss it."

"You don't care to discuss anything," I retort while I continue to drone over the topic and feel frustrated again when he snorts as if I said something amusing.

"Neither do you."

The temptation to respond and start an argument is swallowed by my better senses, even though I can't help but point out with a held back tone of agitation that, "You're uptight," as I walk around his sofa and sit on the opposite side to him. Then to push it, I decide I'll stretch out and lay on it, testing his nerves and my own sense of welcome.

All he does is give a sideways glance though, as if it doesn't bother him in the least before he sighs and moves forward to accommodate my legs by giving them some room, and I have to admit that I wasn't expecting that.

"Would it bother you if I told you that Sephiroth used to do that?" he distantly says, almost breathing it out and wryly smirking, confirming that he didn't make that part of the story up despite my own convictions on the topic.

"Do what?"

"Lie on the couch like that?"

"Are you saying that to get me to sit back up?"

"I'm saying it to find out exactly how insane you are," he answers before he leans forward to take another sip of his tea and places it back down, exactly as it was, "That way, maybe I'll be able to figure out a better way of getting you to leave by using the rules of deduction."

Then almost under his breath, he mutters while reaching for his tea again, "Leviathan knows I tried nearly all I could think of with Seph."

_Seph…_ I think, finding it odd to hear someone call him that and finding myself more curious about their relationship by the fact that I'm gathering Tseng might have been trying to get him to leave him alone as well. But I don't ask about it. Mostly because I don't really want to know the details about his relationship with something as volatile as Sephiroth.

"You could always try asking."

"Vince… I believe I've already done that."

With another sigh, he looks away when I sit up and put my arms around his waist, and I watch his mouth that is his most expressive feature to find out exactly where he's hurting by watching how tense his lips grow when I move my hands—non-obtrusively—across his stomach and stop over the wound from Sephiroth's blade when he flinches and whispers, "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Why can't you just relax?" I ask him in retaliation and in the hopes of lightening him up, even though it comes out in a purr and causes him to cautiously turn his head to look at me while quirking his brow.

All I can do is hope that I didn't sound like a reminder to him, and I'm almost relieved when he wryly retaliates in form.

"Why don't you ever smile?"

Then he lifts his hand as if he's about to touch the corner of my mouth and changes his mind and turns away just as quickly. His reluctance makes it sink in that it's not me that he's been fighting with all this time, and I'm suddenly feeling guilty like I always do.

But I still can't bring myself to leave him, telling myself that he needs me and telling myself that he doesn't really want me to leave either, and I ignore the nagging comments inside that tell me I could be wrong. It's just another reason not to smile, I suppose, as the weight I carry becomes heavier and I give in to defeat before I wrap my arms below his ribs and pull him closer to me.

And naturally, he protests by telling me he was in the middle of something and points at his papers and his tea while I ignore him and hold him with one arm, firmly enough to hold him still without him feeling suffocated, and loosely enough so that I can massage his shoulders and back with the other.

He relaxes for a short while, seemingly appreciative before he starts to get anxious again, behaving like he doesn't want to admit that he likes it and he tries to get back up. But I continue to hold him back while asking with an unintended seduction to my tone, "What's so important that it can't wait?"

"Research," he answers, before he adds, "And I don't see why I need to wait."

Then he turns his head as far as he can toward me and playfully quirks his brow. Though it's not in a way that makes me feel comfortable.

"Unless… there's something new you'd like to try?"

I ignore him though, assuming and even half-hoping that he's not really serious, and I take a discomforting comfort in the conniving snicker that follows his comment as if it was only an attempt to get me to push him away.

But there's a part of me that knows he wasn't joking, and again, I catch myself contemplating it and finding myself going nowhere with the thought, despite what I ask.

"Would it put your mind at ease if I said yes?"

Not really meaning to say it, the question surprises us both and he manages to turn since I allow him enough room to completely face me and study me with those dark and alluring eyes of his. And after a questioning silence, he's says with a complete lack of expression, almost suggesting that it's advice I should take to heart, "Never offer to do something you're not willing to do, Vince—It's tasteless."

Then his look turns to one of disapproval, to show that he's not impressed in the least and he pushes himself away. I let him though, since I'm slightly stunned by my own words. But it doesn't stop me from indulging in my curious nature and I tell myself it's harmless since it's only words, nothing more, "I never said I wasn't willing."

"I'm not in the mood to play games with you right now," he lazily warns, and he picks up his cup to take another sip before moving one of his papers to the top of the pile and adding more marks to it with a slim black pen. They're sloppy marks, uncharacteristic of him, and it leaves the sheet looking like nothing more than a haphazard game plan.

"I believe I've had more than my fill from you already."

"Have you?" I ask as I prop myself in the opposite corner and sneer at him, not knowing how his tone manages to successfully irritate me at times, and he shakes his head and closes his eyes like he's getting a headache.

"Don't start."

"Start what?"

"You're trying to pick a fight again," he mutters as he pulls another sheet from the pile. It has scientists names on it and the words 'missing', or 'deceased', beside them, and he appears to focus on the locations of their labs written in the farthest column. Then he lifts his teacup and holds it near his mouth.

"For no apparent reason except to prove that you don't like it when I'm right."

"You're not always right," I tell him, agitated by the fact that he's arrogant enough to think that he is and ignoring the way that he's suddenly looking at me, as blankly as it is.

All he does is shake his head and finish off the rest of his tea, holding his baby finger in the air as he does it before he gets up and mutters to himself as if he wants me to hear it, "I have no idea why you're here when you obviously don't want to be."

After that, he rinses out his cup and places it by the sink. Then he walks toward his bedroom and waves his hand at me to encourage me to follow.

"I'm going to bed," he tells me before turning and seriously looking at me while sarcastically stating with a quirked brow for emphasis, "and since I'm always right, I doubt I'll need to ask if you'll be joining me."

* * *

By the way he says it, it would be enough for me to normally say to hell with him. But as it is, I know the reason he doesn't want me on the couch and since I'm making it obvious that I'm not going anywhere, I figure I might as well sneer at him and answer to his beckon call, and he rolls his eyes before walking into his bathroom to take his bath.

Then he stops at the door and hides another grimace before he tells me, "This door may be broken, no thanks to you. So I feel I should make it _dead _clear that I do _not_ want you barging in on me."

Then he mutters as he leans the broken door against the broken frame and gives me a frustrated look through the cracks that he can't do anything about and warns me, "I don't care how hormonal you are. I will _not_ accept any excuse."

* * *

For the first time since I've met Tseng, I finally get a glimpse of the things he does when he thinks he's not being watched through the cracks of his broken door. And I can't help but wonder if what he does is specific to this night or if it's something that's been ongoing. And I catch myself frowning as I watch him drink three potions in a row and then squeeze his eyes shut while grimacing with his hand over his gut again.

Then he looks up as if silently praying for something—mercy, maybe—before he turns his attention away from the mirror and starts to remove his tie and his clothes. I can't help but notice two things about everything he does.

Although I suppose the first should be expected, and that is the fact that he tries to keep everything he's doing concealed from me. Whether he's aware that my sight is more enhanced than an ordinary person's is unknown to me. Though I suspect there isn't much that he doesn't know, especially now that I know he's had access to records that I probably haven't even seen myself.

And the second is that he avoids his own reflection once his clothes are off as if he can't bear to look at himself, or maybe he simply wants to continue living in denial over the fact that he's not the same man he was before the incidents with Sephiroth and the remnants. It's not as simple as being self-conscious though. He simply doesn't want to face it, and as a result, my hand unconsciously finds its way to the keepsake Lucrecia gave to me and I suddenly lose myself in the reminder that it wasn't just me that had to pay for both her and Hojo's sins.

And again, I'm burdening myself over the fact that I never tried hard enough to stop them, and I'm blaming myself for everyone else's suffering over it.

But what good does it do?

It doesn't fix anything that's been broken, and all I'm left with is nothing more than a desire to pick up the pieces as best as I can with little knowledge over how to do it or where to start. And I can't help but wonder if that's all my attraction is to Tseng, which only deepens the burden over the fact that he may be right about me using him if not for the simple fact that he reminds me of a life I once used to live and never really wanted to let go of.

* * *

"It's no wonder you never smile," Tseng comments as he steps out with his robe on and holds it closed at the collar, making me wonder when I lost track of time and how long he's been standing there and watching me. It seemed like only a moment ago that he was tending to his evening ritual.

Then he lets out a sigh and stares at me with a strange mixture of disapproval and something that could possibly pass for compassion. Though I doubt that's what it is.

"I'm beginning to think that dwelling over things that can't be changed is more than just a hobby for you."

Ignoring his comment and the fact that it still annoys me that he can pick up on my thoughts like that, I move over slightly and pat my hand on the spot beside me as a silent request for him to sit down while I change the subject to one of more interest to me.

"How long have you been in that pain?" I ask, before I point out the fact that I don't think what's bothering him is related to the remnants, "It's not from the remnants, Is it?"

He only bows in mild contemplation as if he's almost tired of constantly avoiding my questions before he reluctantly answers and stares at the floor, "It never went away."

Then he quirks his brow and tends to my request to sit beside me.

"It's not constant," he tells me, and he nods to add emphasis to it like he wants me to believe him. Then I move closer and attempt to get him to relax by massaging his shoulders again for him, "It just… doesn't go away."

"Have you told anyone?"

"No," he says before he stares at the floor and defensively stiffens when I attempt to move the shoulders of his robe out of the way.

"Why?"

"I don't see the point."

"It could be something serious."

"There's nothing anyone can do about it," he answers, unable to hide his annoyance as he squirms his shoulders and moves away from me like I'm hitting a nerve.

Then he attempts to get up and I pull him back down and hold him in place, agitating him even more.

"Tell me why you're so stubborn," I demand, lowly growling but almost persuasive, "Tell me how you can be so certain that there's nothing and no one that can help you."

"Let go of me, Vince."

"No," I tell him, before I pull him closer to me and tighten my grip, convincing myself that this is more for him than for anything else as I whisper with a husky weight and rub my cheek against his in a strange semblance of affection, "Not until you tell me."

"There's nothing to tell you," he angrily states as he continues to try to pull away while I lose myself in his lavender scent and light cologne, and I close my eyes, almost forgetting that I'm forcefully hanging onto him.

"You're lying."

"According to you, I always lie."

"That's because you do."

"I don't see how not saying anything is the same as making up stories about it."

"So what aren't you telling me then?" I ask before he gives up and lets his head fall back, "Or anyone else for that matter."

"Why are you doing this?" he asks, attempting to change the subject and unable to hide the pained undertone as he feebly tests my grip and mindlessly expresses his irrelevant thoughts, "All I wanted to do was thank you… give you a cheque… money… _something_ to express my gratitude…"

"Stop changing the subject."

"It was never my intention to turn you into an obsessive, lovesick, lunatic… I never even intended for you to find out… I just thought…"

"Stop it."

"I thought … that maybe I could offer you something… something I thought you might need… Some way for me to make a small amendment…"

"For Kjata's sake, Tseng," I finally growl with a threatening undertone before I forcefully flip him onto his back and hold him down so I can peer down at him, into his eyes.

"How dare you handle me like that," he spits back, with burning eyes and a tightening jaw before he adds, "This is what I'm talking about when I say I don't know what you're going to do from one moment to the next."

"That makes two of us," I tell him, suddenly realizing that he'll probably interpret it as me agreeing with him when I'm referring to him, and I'm right.

"Well it's about time you finally admit to it."

And I'm also beyond frustration with him. So I get off of him and sit back on the edge of the bed and I try to contemplate why the hell I'm still here, or even why I came and why the hell he's just laying there and staring at the ceiling and not telling me to leave.

Then suddenly out of the dead silence, he takes a deep breath as if he was holding it and mutters out, "I don't know."

"What?" I mutter, still staring at the floor and slouching forward with my forearms over my knees for support before I let out a dead breath and clarify my question further in hopes of receiving better clarification for the effort, "What don't you know?"

"I'm not telling anyone anything…" he says, pausing, maybe for the right words or maybe to add effect to another lie to make it more convincing while the bed moves when he turns over and probably stares at my back, or more accurately, he's probably frowning at my hair again, "Because I don't know."

I can't detect any lie in his tone though, and the fact that he lets out a shaky breath as if he's relieved that he told someone the fact that he knows nothing, convinces me that he's telling the truth. I also can't help but wonder if my assumption about it scaring the hell out of him is correct either while I turn to see him staring back at me with that forlorn look he sometimes carries when he thinks no one's looking at him.

But he makes no attempt to hide it this time, and he awkwardly scrunches his shoulders while unconsciously grabbing at the neck of his robe to ensure it's still closed, "I don't even know how I wound up where I wound up."

"Where did you wind up?" I ask, more compassionately this time in hopes of encouraging him to talk while he shrugs and stares at the ceiling again, staring off into an imaginary distance.

"I don't know," he mutters before he rubs at his face with the palms of his hands and tells me, "All I know is that one moment I was being stabbed, and the next, someone was dragging me somewhere… Then I think I woke up in a lab… But I don't know if it was only a paranoid dream…"

"I don't understand," I tell him as he shakes his head and I wonder how he can't even know where he woke up.

"I know It doesn't make sense," he tells me. "All I know for sure is that I woke up in a room at a ski resort with… broken memories, I suppose."

"A ski resort?"

With a short nod, he lets out another sigh and brushes some loose strands of hair from his face.

"I have no idea how long I was there—how I got there… Or even if that's where I'd been the whole time."

"What about the people that ran the place?"

"No one saw anything," he says before he quirks his brow and looks at me with a paling uncertainty. "They didn't even know I was there."

Then he frowns at the corner of his mouth and looks to the side like he's recalling images of what he says next.

"The only thing I know for certain is that I was at the Temple of the Ancients, trying to make sense out of everything. The ancients…"

He pauses for a short moment in recollection. Then he nervously chuckles while quirking his brow again.

"I suppose you could say I was chasing a fool's dream… I never expected or even believed that Seph…"

And while he pauses to swallow a lump back, I catch myself frowning and even sneering at the thought before I try to stop myself from being too obvious and try to offer some kind of condolence. But I don't think it comes out the way I intended.

"He was out of his mind," I say, before I try to think of a way to save myself from the lack of thought that goes into my words unsuccessfully.

But he seems to understand and only nods before he turns his attention back to me and wryly smiles.

"I'm well-aware of that, Vince."

Then he stares at my headscarf and frowns.

"I ran all sorts of tests on myself," he tells me as the corner of his mouth turns and he pulls a loose strand of hair from the fringe of my bangs and daintily lets it fall to the floor, "I couldn't find anything that would suggest I was tampered with."

Then he sets his attention back to my eyes before quickly looking away.

"Nor could I find anything that would suggest how I survived."

"It's driving you crazy," I suddenly realize while he subtly nods and I silently conclude that the pain confuses him even more.

"It's almost like I'm being punished," he admits before he nervously smiles again and turns his attention back to me like he's having trouble looking me in the eye.

"I realize it could be for a number of things… I just… wish I knew for certain."

I wish I could have thought of something better to say than, "I know."

But as it is, it's the best I can come up with. It doesn't seem to matter though, and Tseng willingly lets me pull him closer when I lay down beside him, and he willingly lets me kiss him on the mouth, tenderly. But in order for him to still maintain the upper hand for the control I'm beginning to think we like fighting over, he simply says, "Goodnight."

Then he pulls me closer in invitation to sleep beside him and turns so his back is to me, and I'm left with mixed feelings before I fall asleep and enter a nightmare that almost seems real.

Although, I don't really know why I consider it a nightmare.


	14. Glimpses Here and There

**Glimpses Here and There**

* * *

It's hazy, like thick dust in the air. It carries a dank and musty smell to it like a grave. Then a misty image of a black-haired male, pale and naked takes a sharp breath as if it's his first, and it carries nothing but the reminder of pain along with it. As the air around him clears, the environment clears too. Everything looks like steel and silver as if I'm looking through a bluish wash.

Then it all goes clear.

Though still blue, and he lets out a terrifying scream when he suddenly realizes he's lying on a steel table with numerous tubes in violation of his body.

But there's no one around to hear him scream. The place is empty and he panics, throwing himself from the table and tangling himself in the tubes as he frantically struggles to remove them and break free.

It's almost counterproductive since his struggles tangle him more. But he eventually frees himself enough to fall completely to the floor with a lack of strength to stand, and he lets out a grunt that is the epitome of him holding back another agonizing scream when the last of the tubes are yanked from his veins as he falls. Out of nothing more than a stubborn will, he shakily grabs onto the enforcements of the table and tries to pull himself up while panting to relieve the discomfort and he takes a better look around through eyes that haven't adjusted from a heavily drugged sleep.

The room is empty, he realizes, as he looks at the tubes while feebly supporting himself, and the tubes are empty. There's no trace of what was injected or taken, no residue, no stains, and he grabs onto them to pull himself to the vessel they're attached to only to find it as barren and empty as the tubes and lacking of any controls that could offer a hint. Everything is void of evidence and traces as he begins to look dizzy and grimaces while his hand automatically presses to the front of the wound that should have killed him.

But it's completely healed and scarred over now.

Then a flood of memories, drowning and suffocating causes him to slump to the floor, landing on his knees in either disbelief or terror, and his arms fold across his gut as if it's the only comfort he can find while a deathly wail begins to escape him.

It's a soft whine at first, a semblance of the control he's always forced upon himself. But it's breaking before it turns into something outright terrifying, and he begins to rock before he completely breaks down.

Tears that no one has probably ever witnessed—save for the sterile walls around him—escape from a will that doesn't want to let them escape, and it only makes it more of a punishment before he tries to regain himself, convincing himself that he'll get nowhere by feeling sorry for himself.

It's the will of a survivor, strong and resolute, despite the feeble swarm that it constantly fights. Though it's enough to get him crawling clumsily across the floor, struggling with weak and stiffened muscles that haven't been used for a time that he has no knowledge of, and he trembles while he pulls a lab coat from a hook on the wall to cover himself up with.

Shivering from the lack of heat and looking around, he clings to the front of the white coat as if he can gain some kind of warmth from it. And with uncertain eyes, they wander while shaky breaths let out puffs of warm vapour and make it sound like he's having difficulty breathing. He's trembling as he struggles to stop his teeth from chattering before he spots the databases from where he's huddled with his knees pulled into his chest and he stares at them, focused and suddenly forgetting about the cold.

He knows Hojo always kept data—or any scientist for that matter—and despite the fear of knowing what was done to him, a sickening whirlwind of possibilities and abominations flood his mind. But he knows he's not going to get anywhere by trying to convince himself that nothing is real. Only, to confuse him more and put him more into a state of fear and uncertainty, there's nothing left behind.

There are no records, no notes, no fluids or samples. There isn't even any power to run any of the machines and he wouldn't know how to operate them anyway. They all seem foreign to him. Nothing is familiar and there is nothing left behind. There are no traces to let him know whether he was simply revived or tampered with either, or even how he wound up wherever he is. It's as if he's entered some kind of unexplainable void and was left for the sake of nature's course. He doesn't even recognize the lab to be one of Shinra's, or even Hojo's, and he begins to shake again, not knowing what's going on.

The moment he spots a cabinet with sealed syringes and vials, he licks his dry lips with a dry tongue and tries to swallow. Then he hangs onto the counter for support and half-drags himself over to it, still shaking. But the moment he goes to open the cupboard, something stings him in the side of the neck and something else covers his mouth.

Suffocating him, he thinks. Though he has no strength to struggle as he grows even weaker and his eyes grow heavier and roll back into his head while slowly falling and being guided to the floor.

"Shhh," is the last thing he thinks he hears.

But he was never sure.

* * *

I'm dreaming, I think, struggling to see things clearer and pull myself out at the same time. But it's like I'm stuck in the same situation and I can only see and hear what he sees and hears, wondering how much of it is real. Then I remind myself again that it's only a dream when I suddenly think, 'He's lied to me again.'

But the moment the thought crosses my mind, I hear that familiar low and purring voice that I can only imagine belongs to one person, Sephiroth. But he isn't threatening me in an obvious way this time.

"It's not what you think, Vincent… _Valentine_."

Instead, it's almost soothing, even though that soothing quality doesn't appear genuine and the moment I sense something about to grab me, my eyes snap open and I wind up being more confused than I was to begin with.

* * *

It's snowing, I think, as I look up and see white flakes falling from a monochrome sky. Then I lift my bare hand in front of me and watch the flakes melt when they touch my skin, leaving faint streams to run down before I look around and realize I'm in the middle of a snow-field. There's nothing but white for as far as I can see. Snowdrifts that look fresh and untouched hint at a storm that might have recently passed and I suddenly sit up with a strange sense of panic.

Then I look down beside me where Tseng would have been sleeping if I were still where I think I should be. Instead, I see a figure laying several feet away from me. He's covered in the snow and he's not sleeping.

It's like the last time I was pulled through the window to his past. Only this time, there is no Sephiroth to warn me or tell me to stay away. This time he tells me something else that I can't decipher.

_'It's not what you think…'_

Then I wonder how much of what I'm seeing is Tseng's past, suddenly not so certain about anything at the moment, or even how disoriented time is here—wherever here is—and I look back over to the form a few feet from me.

His eyes are closed. Blood stains the shirt beneath his open blazer that's been frozen into a stiff form as if he'd been there for a while, and there are stains across his bloodless face and over his eyelids as if a bloodied hand had touched him and closed his eyes.

They must have been bare, I think, as odd as it is to think it before I lift my own hand when it suddenly feels wet and I stare at the thick and red liquid on my fingers. I'm not sure if I can be more confused than I was a moment ago, and I remind myself that dreams are like this before I look back over to see that the stains on Tseng's face could very well be from my own hand.

But if that's the case, why was he left there alone?

"Kjata," I mutter before I stumble to my feet and attempt to run to him, only to be stopped by an invisible barrier that I can't see. Then my eyes dart open in a state of panic to stare at the ceiling in Tseng's modest home and a sleepy groan comes from beside me before he curls more tightly into a ball, and I almost thank the gods for the fact that he's grumbling about his aches in his sleep.

* * *

About the best I can do is try to convince myself that it was only a trick of the subconscious mind, images and thoughts brought on from what he told me before we fell asleep, and maybe even a residual effect from whatever happened when I touched him outside of Gongaga. But that only stirs more questions when I wonder if it's him or me that's surfacing whatever it is that's between us.

He's the first person I've been in close contact with since I was first tampered with, and I suddenly wonder if I've discovered another side effect as I sit up and lean over him. Then I think that there had been times when I could have sworn that I heard Lucrecia talking to me in my dreams—from the other side, if that's where she is now—and I begin to wonder if it was real and if that's what is happening now.

But Tseng's not dead, I remind myself as I lean closer and falter before moving his hair from his face, thinking that my hand still has his blood on it. It doesn't though, and he's definitely alive. The reminder comes when he grimaces and mutters something illegible in his sleep. However, Sephiroth most likely is, and according to Tseng, he may have been as well.

For how long though, he says he doesn't know, and I wonder again about how much of what he said was true. He seemed genuine, I think, finally combing his hair back with my fingers and staring at the faint glow of the side of his face in the dark, and then I wonder if what I dreamt was the same dream he told me about.

_'I think I woke up in a lab…'_ I recall him saying, and I think that maybe he wasn't lying to me. Then I think about how much of what I witnessed was a dream and how much of it was a reality—if any of it was—before I remember what sounded like Sephiroth's voice purring at me like he was toying with me.

'_It's not what you think.'_

None of it makes sense and I think I might be starting to drive myself as crazy over it as Tseng's been driving himself crazy, before I wonder if I'm not the only one that hears Sephiroth's whispers in the land of dreams.

I hope not, and I find myself curling up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waste in a protective way and brushing away the nagging sense that makes me feel like I'm holding a lifeless corpse.

_You're real_, I think to myself. It's a reassurance that seems unnecessary while I remind myself that he's just as alive as he is real.

* * *

Sleep is only broken and restless after that, and dreamless too. Nearly every small ache and muffled complaint of his wakes me up to the nagging thoughts of which one of us is the bridge to the unknown and which one of us is walking over it, if not both of us. And for the first time since I've lost everything that I thought mattered, I'm realizing that I don't want to be sleeping.

I want to be standing guard.

* * *

I must have fallen into a deeper sleep than I thought at one point though, because when I wake up to the small crack of light through his heavy curtains and what sounds like birds singing outside, Tseng isn't lying beside me anymore. There are no sounds to suggest that he's even inside the small house. The most natural reaction would be to call out his name and I almost do before I remind myself that he wouldn't be happy if someone were to hear it.

So instead, I sit up and drape my legs over the side of the bed and take a look around through my heavy and unkempt bangs before I grab my headscarf from his bedside table and put it on to help me see more clearly.

_It's possible he could have already gotten ready for the day and left,_ I tell myself, remembering that he has a legitimate job to go to, unlike myself. But it doesn't help with the nagging and residual thoughts from dreams I'm wishing I wasn't having. Nor does it help with that strange sense of loss I can't seem to shake as I push myself from the bed and start to look around, knowing I'd feel better if he were here.

He's nowhere to be found though, and he's left the obvious signs of him preparing for the day. There are empty bottles of potions in his trash, a damp towel hanging to dry, and drops of water still sitting in the old porcelain tub and sink, and when I walk out of the room, there's a note on his table telling me where breakfast is.

I only snort when I read it though, still feeling those mixed feelings and signals that I constantly receive from him even though I feel more comfortable about his whereabouts when he leaves the proof that he's only gone to his office or training, or both.

And like the other times, he's put more effort than I would have expected into what he's made.

* * *

Once I'm done and I finish removing the evidence of my presence, I find myself drawn to the papers he left on the coffee table from the night before and frown over the fact that I believe I know what he's looking for. It isn't business, and he hasn't come up with any hints or answers. He thinks as much as I do that the lab in his dreams might be real, and he's been researching nearly every one that he's been able to locate in hopes of finding it.

It might be out of the same curiosity I have for myself that causes me to sit down and go over everything he's gone through so far, and I begin to think that it could do no harm to see if I can help him, knowing that a fresh pair of eyes can sometimes catch what's been unknowingly missed. Though it looks like he's been through everything more than once, and there's nothing that he's missed. All I can do is come to the conclusion that he just hasn't found his answers yet.

But those thoughts and concerns are quickly replaced with the need to get out of sight the moment I hear voices approaching and notice that the day has already passed. They're the voices of Tseng and Rufus, and Tseng is insisting that he doesn't need an escort while Rufus insists that there's still something Tseng isn't telling him.

"I don't see what the problem is. It's not like you haven't slept with a woman before," I hear Rufus sing, and I wonder what the hell he's talking about as I hear their steps on the lightly gravelled pathway to the front of Tseng's home. "Besides, you only have to share the room with her and you've never complained about that in the past."

"Forgive me, Sir. I was just stating that I'd prefer to stay in a separate room."

"Ah. Well, I'm afraid that wouldn't be very convincing for the cause."

"The cause…" Tseng mutters. Then I hear keys clanging like they're being fiddled with as I hear them walk up the old wooden steps and onto the neglected porch. "Personally, I don't see why the _cause_ requires it."

"I don't see why it's suddenly bothering you," Rufus retaliates as Tseng's key enters the lock and I warily back up into his room while keeping my head down and my hand instinctively readied on my gun.

Then I hear Rufus lower his voice and imagine that he's leaning closer to his lead Turk as he slyly assumes, "Unless you've actually decided to give up on your celibacy and found someone that it might bother."

"Sometimes…" Tseng starts with a wry sounding tone to his voice that's just as low and smooth as Rufus' suddenly is, "I think you guys are more interested in what goes on in my private life than you are in anything of actual relevance."

Rufus only snickers before the handle slowly gives way on Tseng's door. Then he playfully answers him in a contrastingly serious way.

"Mystery, Tseng, I believe is what keeps us going," and after that, the door slightly opens and I see Tseng's hand inconspicuously slip through the crack as if he has his back to it and something small and round falls from his sleeve and rolls directly to the base of my feet.

"Mystery?" Tseng flatly asks, almost mockingly while I silently curse that bastard for being born when I realize what the hell it is that he's tossed at me and that there's nowhere for me to go to get away from it fast enough.

"Yes," Rufus answers. "Perhaps if you weren't so insanely private about who you are and what you do when no one is looking, you wouldn't be half as intriguing as you are."

"I was under the impression that you already knew who I was," Tseng answers as the Impaler object at my feet silently bursts and a fine green mist escapes from it and moves toward me as if it's an entity needing to become one with me as I warily back up, not caring to look behind me.

"Hm," Rufus mutters. "Perhaps… At one time…"

Then he pauses for moment while I back into Tseng's dresser and grit my teeth as a tingling sensation enters my pores and searches for a way to bond with the molecular structure of everything I'm holding and wearing, as well as myself so it can alter everything as a whole.

"I haven't changed, Rufus."

"Yes you have," Rufus answers. "You're more secretive than you've ever been and more determined to frequently disappear, as well as prove yourself."

Then Rufus' voice lowers again and I catch a glimpse of fingers against the doorframe. They lie as much as Tseng's do. They're well-manicured, cared for, and tended to like appearance matters, despite the calluses that belie it all.

And all the while, everything grows larger as my form starts to shrink at a rapid rate.

"It's almost like you're afraid of something, Tseng…"

"I believe you've been reading too many novels, Rufus."

"Perhaps," the man agrees before his spidery fingers tap on the frame, almost impatiently, and I have a feeling that he's moved even closer to Tseng since his own fingers that have wrapped around the door grip in slightly. "But I do have to admit that you've been extremely suspicious lately…"

"I'm afraid I don't see how the fact that I prefer not to be badgered and under a permanent microscope makes me suspicious."

"I see," Rufus muses before he moves back enough for me to see the side of his overcoat. "Well if there's nothing suspicious…. Perhaps you'd like to open your door?"

Without an answer, Tseng lets out a scolding snort before his door swings open and he walks straight to his kettle to heat it up. All the while, not bothering to take a look around as if he's trying hard to behave the way he's expected to behave.

"Ah," Rufus breathes out as he casually clasps his hands behind his back and looks directly at me with narrowed eyes and a slight smirk. "There's a toad in your house, Tseng."

"I'm aware of that, Rufus," he answers while the young President steps in with an uncharacteristic uncertainty that if I didn't know any better, could pass as respect for his Turk and his home. "It seems to keep finding its way back in."

"You and your strays," Rufus mutters, shaking his head like it's an ongoing issue. Though he says it low enough that Tseng doesn't hear him and is asked to repeat himself. But instead, he only cocks his brow and runs his eyes over his Turk before he appears to try to cover it up by turning questionably jesting.

"Perhaps you should kiss it," Rufus jokes before Tseng shakes his head with a mild irritation. Then the younger man snickers at his own joke while adjusting the sleeves of his coat and walks toward Tseng's table while chidingly adding, "it could be the prince of your dreams."

"I highly doubt that," Tseng dryly answers as he grabs a teabag out of his cupboard and places it in the small vessel he uses to serve his tea with.

"Judging from your tone, I'd say that its presence bothers you."

And for a moment, Tseng turns around and stares blankly at me before his attention snaps to Rufus pulling his gun out of his holster, and he nearly falters even though his tone remains steady.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting rid of your problem."

"Are you going to clean the mess?"

"Are you mad?" Rufus asks as if he's serious about the question and shocked by it just the same, making me realize that he really is nuts, if not excessively spoiled. Then he chuckles when Tseng merely continues to stare at him with a growing seriousness that even bothers me.

"No," he deadly answers before the wrist he carries his blade on twitches and Rufus' attention snaps directly to the action, taking note of it. "If you kill it, you clean it."

"You're serious," Rufus notes before he stares back at me and sneers like he's been put out. Then he sighs as if he's already bored by my presence and puts his gun back in his holster. And sadly, I'm not surprised that the threat to make him clean up was all that it took to get him to change his mind.

Although I'm sure Rufus read more into it when Tseng's hand twitched.

I have to admit that I'm surprised Tseng made the effort as I take advantage of my temporarily transformed state and move closer to the sofa in Tseng's adjoining living room, keeping in mind that I can easily scurry under it for cover if the need arises.

"You expect the same from us in your own home," Tseng reminds him as he pulls the kettle from the heating element the moment it starts to whistle and pours the water into the pot.

"I believe that's because I'm your boss," Rufus reminds him before he cocks his brow and brushes his bang from his eyes.

"Perhaps," Tseng agrees. "But I also believe that I'm off the clock at the moment and that you're nothing more to me than a spoiled and rich little brat when I'm not working."

"Oh?"

With a feigned sounding surprise, Rufus smirks like he's amused instead of insulted. Then he walks up to Tseng and places his hands on the counter on either side of the Turk, closing him in and almost purrs to him from behind. "You certainly do have panache for flattery."

Tseng only snorts instead of answering while I fight the sudden urge to pull out my non-existent gun and put a bullet through Rufus' head for standing that close and appearing to flirt. But Tseng manages to keep things under control by merely turning around with two cups of tea in his hand and hands one to Rufus.

"I believe if I was attempting to flatter you, I would have lied."

"Ah," Rufus responds as he accepts the tea and takes a sip. Then he backs up and watches Tseng with a near disgust at the amount of sugar the man adds to his own cup.

"Speaking of lies… Perhaps you'd like to tell me what this insatiable need for sugar of yours is all about," the President says before he moves to Tseng's side and leans his back against the counter so he can watch his expression. "And don't tell me it's because you're trying to sweeten up."

"Are you saying I don't need to?"

"I'm saying it's not possible," Rufus answers before he looks at Tseng with an admiring glow to his eyes and they both start snickering while stepping away from the counter. Then Rufus stops when he spots me again and knits his brow while noting, "There's something unsettling about your familiar, Tseng."

"My familiar?" he asks before he turns around and notes where Rufus' attention is and nods.

"Ah," he muses after taking a sip and distastefully sneers at the fact that he thinks it needs more sugar while continuing to add more. "Don't tell me you're afraid of amphibians, Rufus."

"No," Rufus mutters, slowly before he shakes his head and stares a moment longer with narrowed eyes. "It's just that I could swear the little thing is listening to us."

Then he turns around and looks over his slender Turk while Tseng ignores the obviously understated intonations and I move under the sofa to make myself less conspicuous.

"Are you sure it's not of the Touch Me species?"

"If it was, I'm sure I would have noted it by now."

"I see," he muses before he turns his attention back to my direction. "It's been here for a while then, I assume."

"Mm," is all that Tseng offers in reply, and he looks at his watch. Then he looks over to where I am with a warning gaze and pulls out a chair for his boss before seating himself at the opposite side of the table. "If you want us going right away, I suggest we get started."

"Right," Rufus agrees before he grabs the base of his coat to keep it from creasing as he takes the seat Tseng offered and pulls out an envelope from his breast pocket.

All the while, Tseng watches him with a clinical detachment.

* * *

As it turns out, Rufus has his own set of insecurities and he doesn't like competition, and as things would have it, he has just that. Or at least it's what he thinks he has, and he wants Tseng and Elena to go to Costa Del Sol as a married couple to investigate.

"And you're positive he's never seen either of us before?" Tseng stresses, showing a cautious and methodical side as he goes through papers that I'm suspecting Rufus didn't share with Elena.

"Yes," Rufus answers before he stiffens up slightly and tells Tseng that, "he's originally from Gongaga."

"Gongaga," Tseng hesitantly repeats with a tightened sound to his voice before his darkening eyes slowly lift to Rufus in suspicion.

"It has nothing to do with him, Tseng. I even took the liberty to ensure that there's not even a relation between this man and your… him," Rufus quickly answers, though it's not due to the threatening glare Tseng has because Rufus doesn't look intimidated by it.

For an awkward moment, Tseng only stares at Rufus with an empty study, eyes still hard before he sucks in a tight breath and returns his attention back to the papers and photos.

"Tell me about his history."

His voice is almost dead, flat as he inquires about the man and his jaw remains subtly clenched in distrust while Rufus explains the situation. From what I can gather, Tseng and Elena are to meet with the man in Costa Del Sol to assess the level of threat this man might pose to Rufus.

"So are we supposed to act like we're newlyweds?" Tseng finally asks, like he feels the whole façade is unnecessary.

"You can be on the verge of divorce for all I care," Rufus dully answers before he looks back over at me and then turns to watch Tseng take a sip from his tea with a disgusted sneer. "In fact, that might make it more believable."

"Mm," Tseng nods before he leans slightly forward and coyly smiles. "Happy couples are definitely suspicious."

"Mm," Rufus agrees while nodding back with a coy smile of his own before he sits back and crosses his legs while letting out a sigh. "Perhaps we should have fought more then."

Suddenly quiet, Tseng stiffens and takes a sip from his tea while Rufus continues to watch him with a mild curiosity before he cocks his brow and returns to the papers in front of them.

Then his Turk places everything back in the envelope and lets out an awkward sigh before standing and muttering, "I think Elena and I should be able to handle this."

"You think?"

"I know," Tseng corrects, stiffening again when Rufus gets up from his seat and walks over to him with a sceptical look.

"I really do wish you'd let me pay you for this."

"I told you residence is all I require."

"Yes, the arrangement…"

"Mm," Tseng mutters, cutting Rufus off. "I told you I'd rather you split it up for the others."

"Yes. And if I choose not to give them your share, you're gone," Rufus responds as he detachedly adjusts the cuffs to his coat. Then he cocks his brow again and stares at Tseng's back as the man takes the cups over to his sink. "However, I do believe I've told you if it's their monetary well-being you're concerned with, I'm willing to give them whatever you want."

"Residence… No questions… and the—"

"Freedom to come and go as you please," Rufus finishes for him. Then he brushes his bang out of his eyes and steps closer to his Turk. "But I don't see why it's necessary. If there's something you need to find out…"

For a moment, Rufus pauses when Tseng purses his lips, subtle as it is and making it obvious to his boss that he doesn't want to discuss the details of his side of the arrangement. But Rufus appears determined and simply clears his throat before continuing.

"I'm more than willing to help you out."

"That won't be necessary," Tseng tells him before he walks to his front door and opens it as a silent statement to say that whatever they're discussing is over.

Taking the hint, the President nods and takes a deep breath before muttering as he abides by the man's wishes and mutters as he walks passed him, "You're not fooling anyone, Tseng."

And as a respectful way to avoid commenting back, Tseng only bows to the man and closes his eyes for a moment before returning to blankly stare at the man who's blankly staring back at him. Then he closes the door and leans on it for a moment as if he's completely forgotten about my presence.


	15. No Advantage

**No Advantage**

* * *

"Your being here is complicating things, Vince," he mutters as he shifts his darkening attention over to me when I move from under the sofa. Then he lets out a long-held breath and mutters out, "White Wind," to undo the spell he cast on me before pushing himself upright and walking to his room while mumbling to himself, "I don't think anyone's ever distracted me as much as you do."

Then he aloofly adds, "Reno found Cloud's bike near the premises and called him about it… Luckily, I managed to intercept him on the other line and managed to persuade him not to tell Reno that it was you who took it… And luckily, Reno didn't mention it to Rufus, figuring it was only Cloud… He's returning it to him now."

After that, he briefly pauses and darkly says, slightly accusingly, "With questions, I'm sure."

And without warning, the moment I fully return to my natural form with a dizzying swoon, he spins around and lodges one of his throwing knives into my thigh, causing me to grunt from the shock.

I do my best to suppress the sudden urge to go against his wishes and let everyone know I'm here by expressing how it really feels, even though I have no idea why I care at this point as my hands rush to the sides of the blade and my eyes shoot to his direction in the semblance of what I'd like to do with my gun, and I glare at him with disbelief that probably shouldn't be so disbelieving.

"What. The hell. Did you do that for?" I lowly growl at him and stagger forward with a lack of balance while waiting for his answer. Though there's a high possibility it has to do with what he just said, if not something else.

And if I didn't know any better, I'd say that he looks stunned. Why he does though, I have no idea, and he steps back before quickly shaking his head and regarding me with his left hand.

"You always get out of the way," he poorly defends as aloofly as he says everything else.

"I usually see it _coming_," I angrily tell him, still suppressing my voice by clenching my teeth and wondering if he's aware that the damn spell he cast on me might have slowed me down a little, considering he barely gave me enough time to adjust from the transition.

Then he stammers and moves forward like he doesn't know if he should run or confront as he decides to make another attempt at defending his actions.

"I thought you were going to attack me."

_Why the hell would I attack him?_ I wonder, ignoring the fact that he may have a valid point for believing that I would, considering he turned me into a toad against my wishes and I've been unpredictable around him from the start.

With another shake to his head, he completely loses his composure and is suddenly at my side so he can guide me over to his bed to sit on the edge while muttering, almost like he doesn't really want me to hear it, "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Then he urges my hands—the ones I'd like to strangle him with—away from their protective grasp on my leg and frowns at the fact that he lodged the damned thing into my femur.

"Leviathan…"

And for some strange reason, my focus is suddenly and completely taken away from what he did and it's on the disbelieving fact that he's behaving like he's concerned, and when he looks up at me, he falters for a moment and abashedly states, "I was only trying to slow you down."

"Slow me down?" I growl out, still clenching my teeth.

"Yes," he answers, "I was concerned about how you might react after… Well, I know how crazy you get—You're irrationally jealous."

_Jealous?_ I think, while resisting the urge to shake my head at the fact that he's suggesting I might be jealous of Rufus, even though I'll admit that I didn't like it when he was hovering over him while Tseng was pouring the tea. But I'm sure as hell not jealous of the maniac.

"And the fact that I turned you into a—"

"Toad," I say, filling in the blank with an unimpressed tone and staring at him with the same semblance as he gets up and quickly rushes into his bathroom before he unwaveringly finishes the rest of the sentence while rushing back out with an old towel in his hand.

"Doesn't help."

Strange though, I suppose, that I'm not as upset as I probably should be as he nods and puts his attention back to the knife while sitting down and bunching the towel around the base of the blade in my leg. And for some reason, I'm questioning it myself.

Then without thinking, I blurt out like I want to add substance to half the things he'd like to believe about me when it comes to him, and it comes out more accusing than I'd like it to.

"You slept with him."

And suddenly, he loses his touch and I bunch forward with grasping hands and another suppressing grunt when he loses his composer and rips the knife out of my leg, obviously intentional.

"Unfortunately," he detachedly says while I protectively hover over my wound, gripping at it and glowering at the floor with clenched teeth, "I'm afraid I won't be able to deny that one."

Then he mutters as he stares at the pinkish liquid on his blade and quirks his brow, "Given the way he was behaving."

He turns his attention back to me when I slowly look up and he pushes my hair back so he can see me scowling at him while I continue to cling to my leg. Of course, he pays it no mind and tilts his head as if he's looking for something in my expression other than what he's seeing.

Whatever it is though, he keeps his observations to himself for a change and sits back, almost looking disappointed over something. Then he quirks his brow and shakes his head before frowning at me and telling me to quit acting like a child over a tiny scratch, and he mutters out, "Angel Whisper" to help heal the wound faster.

"Where are you going?" I ask, as he unfoundedly stands and starts to walk away from me.

"Nowhere," he tells me before he corrects himself, "yet. But I have to get packed."

And the moment he reminds me of the obscure conversation him and Rufus were having, I'm immediately pointing out what I've concluded from listening to them, almost like it's a sudden revelation, "Rufus doesn't pay you."

"No," he aloofly admits as he pulls out a suitcase and opens it near the foot of his bed. Then he coolly walks over to his dresser as if he's avoiding me and contradicts his monetary nature by stating, "If I was on the payroll, I wouldn't have the freedom I require."

_To come and go as you please_, I assume while he lowers his voice and adds with a quicker pace, "And Sephiroth's passing ensured I was well-taken care of."

And as if he knows what I'm thinking, he quickly adds, "And no. Nobody here knows that we had a relationship except for Rufus—I never outright told him, but he's more than capable of figuring things out on his own."

Then, before I even realize it, I find myself quietly limping over to him with an irresistible pull and cautiously turning him around like I'm concerned about him throwing something else at me as I do it. But I risk it anyway, wondering what's the worst that could happen, and as a result, he stares at me with those pooling eyes for a moment and makes no attempt to push me away when I kiss him out of an unexplainable reaction.

For a moment, he manages to act like he wants to go further, almost trembling as he sucks back on my tongue and crawls his fingers up the back of my neck into the tangles of my hair to ensure that I don't pull away. Then he pulls back, just enough to let himself breathe, and breathily mutters into my mouth, "Take your pants off,"—too taken to even take his tongue all the way out as he says it.

Then, to ruin the moment because I'm beginning to think that's how he really gets off, he pulls back, turns his head away, and snidely adds, "They need to be mended."

_Mended?_ I think, wondering why I even bother to think there's anything left beyond that stoic prison he's barred himself up in and wondering why I'm fool enough to believe I can take him out of it, or why the hell I even want to. Then I stare into space and start undoing the buckles on my pants.

Take them off. Sure. Why not.

All the while, I'm wondering why I'm an even bigger fool for letting him take me out of mine.

It hardly seems worth it.

But I can't stop myself from whatever it is. I have no idea how, and I lower my head even more as I lift my leg to slip out of them so he can mend the damned things.

"Do you even like me?" I ask, not knowing where it came from, or even which part of me would want to ask, or even why I'd ask. I don't know why it should matter and I tell myself that it doesn't, even if it's a little late to do it.

"What?" he asks, slightly stunned and making it obvious that he heard what I didn't want him to hear before he knits his brows and shakes his head like he thinks the question is absurd.

"How many times do you want me to say that I do?"

Then he sighs and aloofly takes the pants from my hands, almost snatching them without looking at me and walks over to grab his sewing kit while reminding me that he's already said it several times.

Only it still doesn't satisfy whatever it is that needs satisfying, and if I didn't know any better, I'd say that he's brought me to the level of the sulking child he wants to believe I am, even though I silently deny it while contradicting it at the same time.

"It's only to say that you respect me," I mumble, talking more to myself than to him as I stare at the richly coloured wood of his antique dresser, polished and well-cared for, despite the worn out chips over the edges while he professionally sits down, straight-backed and focussing on his task at hand, and cuts a necessary length of thread.

Though I'm not so sure that I believe he respects me either.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing," I mutter as I turn around and watch him through a sudden mood swing I must be having, arms crossed over my gut in an obviously lost contemplation. It doesn't matter to me that I'm standing there in my underwear, looking ridiculous with a tattered and soiled cloak and old socks full of holes on, and it doesn't matter that the wound I suffered from moments ago is still red. Though it's starting to itch.

"You'd be so much happier," he starts, breaking me from the melancholy I'm starting to think I've become addicted to while I run my fingers over the mark on my leg and resist the urge to scratch it, "If you didn't insist on denying everything that you are."

Then he snorts and pushes my pants into my folded arms, making me wonder how long I'd been withdrawn for since I never saw him get up.

_He's one to talk,_ I sarcastically think as I look at the stitching that bares the mark of an expert before I remind myself that he's only speaking from experience.

"What about you?" I mutter, not bothering to look at him as I push myself upright and let out a bated breath while expecting him to be an insensitive prick again.

"I've given up on it," he tells me, sounding honest about it when he returns to packing his bags while I turn my attention over to him, noting the conviction to his tone.

Though I tell myself it's only a lie.

"And you think I haven't?"

If I could have sounded any more dead or flat, I would have had to make an effort. It doesn't matter to him though, and he puts his head down while neatly setting a carefully folded shirt into his suitcase.

"If you had, would you have followed me in the first place?" he asks, his back facing me before he turns and emptily stares at the pants I let fall carelessly to the floor.

"Would you have sought me out to thank me?" I fire back, uncertain about why I feel the need to argue over it and wondering if I even have a point.

He only shakes his head though, and mutters at me to put my pants back on before he returns to his luggage and adds, "The fact that you let me show you all the things I highly suspected you wanted to see, only convinces me that you wanted to see them."

"What?"

"You say no, Vince. But when I put the food in front of you, you eat it," he says, making me wonder why the hell we're talking about food now. But he alleviates the concern over the food by bunching it up with other things he feels are relevant as well, "And when the clothes are given to you, you wear them, and when the bed is offered, you take it."

He seems to want to say more but he stops as if his emotions are about to get the better of him. However, it still doesn't stop him from bitterly muttering to himself as he turns around again, "Though I don't recall offering for you to take advantage of me."

"And I don't recall you pushing me away," I accuse, suddenly cringing at the fact that I know I've given him nothing but ammunition with that. He doesn't take advantage of it though, surprisingly. But he does turn to glare at me like he's contemplating a way to kill me and have me stay dead over it.

However, I have little time to think about anything beyond that, because he takes me off guard and suddenly tackles me, pushing me onto his bed and jumping on top of me, mouth sealed against my own and knocking his suitcase onto the floor where the contents spill out.

He only pulls back long enough to tell me that he's never been more turned on and that he wants to show me how good he can make me feel while a spiralling ball of vulnerability builds up inside of my gut. Then he hooks his arm under my knee and pulls it up to his waist and slides his hands down my backside.

I can't recall a time that I'd felt more assailable, and I find myself suddenly pushing him back, defensively, as if I can't stand the thought of not being in control while under attack amidst a dizzying assault.

But he gets off willingly and just as quickly as he jumped on me when I instinctively yell out, "GET OFF OF ME!"

And he stoically says, like my reaction was completely uncalled for, "Keep your voice down, Vince. Rufus could still be out there."

Then he straightens out his suit and slicks his hair back while I lie there in a state of confusion over what the hell just happened, and he returns to packing his bags like nothing happened, calmly picking it up from the floor and neatly placing everything back in.

"There," he says with his focus on his suitcase, posture as straight as a board when he stands back up, "You didn't want that, and you were quite willing to let me know."

"What?" I ask, unable to hide the mixture of confusion and disbelief as I lay there in my underwear and stare at him in bewilderment.

"Your actions, Vince. They say more than you do."

"You jumped on me to prove a point?" I ask as I slowly sit up and continue to stare at him like I want to strangle the jerk right out of him.

"Not really," he tells me, because he likes to be as cryptic as he can possibly be. Then he turns around and looks at me with that stone expression of his, "I would have gone all the way if you'd have let me."

Then he quirks his brow and frowns before pulling some pants out of another drawer.

"However, as much as you like to believe I'm some sort of unfeeling monster, I'm afraid I can't bring myself to make you want the same things that I do."

And the reality of where I am, what I'm doing, and who I'm doing it to sinks in further.

"You were serious," I start, before I move more to the edge of the bed and keep my head down like a dog that's just done something wrong and is seeking forgiveness from its master, "When you said you like…"

For a moment, I pause long enough to absorb the entirety of it, "Equality."

Despite all his seriousness, that sharp glint of his passes through his eyes, striking me as slightly playful if not demonic.

Though it disappears the moment I wonder if Sephiroth ever shared in the same views as him, as if he can read my mind and doesn't approve of it. And for a moment, he stiffens like he's suddenly uncomfortable and brushes his hair behind his ear, and mutters like I have a damn billboard sitting above my head that tells him everything I'm thinking, "Yes… He did."

I wish he hadn't told me though, and I lower my head even more before getting up and walking over to him with an inability to give up.

"Does it matter that much to you?" I ask, putting my arms around him from behind and pulling him back so I can rest my chin on his head.

"No," he mutters before he gives in and runs his fingers over my gauntlet, toying with the grooves where the golden plates join. Then he snorts and slumps farther into me while abrasively admitting, "Because it's not going to last."

"What if it does?"

Whatever it is.

And he only snickers like an adult who's amused by a child's innocence.

"Maybe getting stung only once in your life isn't enough for you to understand."

"Who's to say it was only once?" I ask, pulling him closer and breathing in the lavender from his hair, "I was twenty-six when I met her, twenty-seven when I thought I'd fallen in love with her."

Though I know I've never spent as long of a time with anyone as he did before getting viciously bitten by them, I still had my fair share of failures—if not a number that should probably embarrass me.

"Thought?" he asks, proving that he cares a little more than he pretends to, and he moves to the side so he can try to get a better look at me. But I'm not letting go even though it's more of a playful hold than anything else.

"Then tell me, Mr. _Valentine_," he says, with emphasis to prove the new irony he's discovered as a softened smile lightens up his solemn features and he leans his head more relaxingly onto me, "Are you going to stand there and tell me that you've had your heart broken more times than you've broken others?"

"You sound surprised."

"You were an attractive man," he admits as he strains more to look at me, "I would have thought you went through the growing pains without a hitch."

"I was also very awkward," I tell him, pulling him backwards and toward the side of the bed where I pull him with me when I sit, "I had a tendency to fall for the wrong people."

"So…" he starts as he curls into me and looks to the side, "How can you be so sure that you're not falling into the same trap again?"

Then he tilts his head into my shoulder and runs his fingers over my gauntlet again, suddenly appearing deviant in nature.

"After all, I think I can safely say that I'm not exactly what you would normally look for in a mate."

"True," I agree while I wrap my arms more affectionately around his waist and take comfort in the fact that he's not pushing me away again. "You're conniving. Lying. Cruel… Malicious."

"Malicious?"

"Uptight. Arrogant. Pompous… Aloof…"

"Playful bantering aside," he starts, taking no offence to the things he probably takes as a compliment anyway and moving to sit across my lap so he can see me better, "That's not what I'm talking about."

I only stare at him though, through heavy bangs as if they can protect me from what's inside. I know there's a bigger issue in his head, and I find myself brushing the strong strands of his black hair behind his ear while I wonder about it. It's not in a caring manner though.

It's more because I'm taking another good look at him, masculine and hard, maybe handsome in a sophisticated way—as belying as it is—and I suddenly wonder how often I've really looked at him since I started following him instead of looking at something I think I might be wanting to see.

And he knows it too. It's in his eyes, and the fact that he's voiced what he knows about my own intentions or flawed logic, and the fact that he even goes so far as to make me question it myself. About the best I can come up with is to tell myself that I must be feeling something for him because I'm still here, and I'm still holding him.

Then I rest my gloved palm against the side of his head and tilt it slightly, wondering what it really is about him, and whether or not knowing really matters.

And with those thoughts slowly disappearing, I let out a weighted sigh and gruffly breathe out, "Maybe it just doesn't matter anymore."

What I once thought was relevant no longer is, and he doesn't bother asking what I mean, probably coming up with his own interpretation as right or wrong as it is.

For thirty years, I had nothing to do other than contemplate the meaning and relevance of my life until there was nothing left to contemplate or find relevant. And maybe I just can't be bothered with the smaller details that don't really matter, and as a result, I find myself reluctantly asking him, knowing that his needs are probably no different from my own, "Does it hurt?"

He's confused for a moment and he quirks his brow while I lean back a little, letting him know that I don't really want to voice something I'm still not entirely comfortable with, or even sure about. And luckily, his uncanny ability to read me continues to operate with the quality I expect from him as well as the harsh honesty that almost make his lies seem desirable.

"Yes," he says.

"A lot?"

"It depends on your threshold, I suppose," he says, "and maybe how much you want your mate to be satisfied."

Then he shrugs, unable to deny the cold logic that I think he might have been born with before he tilts his head and turns toward me like he's hoping I won't back down from wherever he thinks this is going.

"But it doesn't last."

And already, my feet are cold. But the look in his eyes stops me from backing down as he gets off of me and places his hands on my bare knees before leaning toward me.

"I have no intention of making things unpleasant for you, Vince," he tells me while he urges me to move farther back on the bed. Then he shyly smiles, though sly, and confesses, "It would hardly work to my benefit if I did."

"Just tell me what to do."

"All you need to do is relax."

Sensing how tense I suddenly am, he frowns slightly and pushes my headscarf up to stop my bangs from obstructing his ability to judge me properly. His other hand, warm and reluctant, slides along my outer thigh where he toys unobtrusively and watches me lie about being able to do this.

He knows I'm lying as I tilt my head back and close my eyes, telling myself I can do this while pretending it's not happening at the same time.

But he tests the waters anyway, maybe hoping he can change the fact that I'm not comfortable with the idea before hooking his fingers into the elastic of my last layer of defence and pushing it down a little. Maybe he can convince me that it's not that bad as his legs gently nudge my own apart, enhancing that vulnerable feeling that I almost can't tolerate.

Strong and masculine hands move about me—the touch of a man with a contradicting gentle touch. Firm and solid kisses caress me. They try to soothe me, calm me down and tell me that it's going to be all right before a hot tongue glides across sensitive skin. Though my nerves are full of indecision and doubt, balling up and twisting inside of me, and turning on me.

The things he does seem foreign and daring to me. The places he touches, not with his hands. And I wonder what it is that makes it feel desirable while strong fingers keep me docile and complacent, touching me in a way that almost makes me forget—silent from questioning it. Then he starts to move upward, slowly moving like a serpent and taking a moment to envelope me with the heat of his mouth, pulsating his tongue against me.

"Kjata," I mutter with an unintentional jitter when I feel his finger press against me.

He doesn't intrude though, only testing, circling, and applying a light pressure. But I still jump and search for the feel of his hair to take my mind off of it as he turns his eyes up to me.

Then he starts to crawl over top of me until we're perpendicular, sensing the tightening nerves in my stomach. And he doesn't do anything other than stare at me as his left hand reluctantly moves away from the closure of his pants, leaving them done up.

His expression is empty, contradicting the depth in his blackish eyes that wander over my own and then settle with an unreadable focus.

"I can't do it," he confides with a whispery husk before he leans down and kisses me on the tender part of my neck, avoiding my mouth and then hovering with hot breath as he whispers again and strokes his thumb from my temple to my hairline, "I can't make you do something you're not ready for."

He gets up then, brushes his hair back with his fingers and walks to his bathroom to run his bath while I turn onto my side and watch him with a sinking guilt, even though I know I didn't do anything wrong. At least, not technically. And as I would expect, he decides to cover up any attempt at being tender by stopping at the door and saying in a hardened and aloof way, "It hardly works to my benefit."

_Of course it doesn't,_ I think, before I turn onto my back and pull my underwear back up, somewhat thankful and somewhat regretful. Then I get up and remove my cloak and my shirt, tempting the fates that I'm staying. And I wait patiently for him to come out with his robe on, crimping his hair with his towel where it all turns into routine for him from here.

Even the part where he finishes packing seems like it's more routine than anything else, and the part where he turns after changing into his pyjamas and looks at me is almost starting to feel familiar. And I'm suddenly realizing that it's everything I want, even if it goes no further than him crawling into the bed and curling up with his back to me.

"How's your leg?" he asks, sounding muffled like he has the pillow too close to his mouth, and I answer, "It's fine," while cuddling up with him and burying my face into the back of his neck, suddenly feeling like we've gone somewhere unsure, even though we haven't really gone anywhere.


	16. The Mysterious Purchase

**The Mysterious Purchase**

* * *

When I awake in the morning, he's gone, along with his luggage. I know it was to be expected. Only I don't know why he trusted me enough to let me sleep and leave me here, and like he's done before, he's left strange little things around that suggest he doesn't only think about himself.

Though I can't help but wonder if he thinks more about someone else than he does about me even though I tell myself it shouldn't matter.

It's a selfish thought anyway, and I'm quickly reminded of it when I catch myself unconsciously holding the chain around my neck and telling myself that I'm just as guilty for not letting go, and that I have no right to be bothered by it while I stare at the breakfast he's made. Then I let out an empty sigh and find myself feeling uncertain when I take note that the breakfast he made us both was inspired by my ancestors again.

He's subtle, I think to myself as I sit in the wooden chair and participate in a ritual no longer needed. But he's obvious too.

Then when I'm finished, I follow in the same ritual of hiding all the traces that I exist, more for him than for me.

After that, I catch myself standing next to his sofa and staring at a photo of Tseng and his Turks. It's a professional photo, featured in a modestly conservative frame, an inch of black surrounding it with a thin gold band accentuating the outer edge—nothing fancy, and from the looks of things, it was taken sometime before the trouble started with the new Avalanche revolutionists.

And I find myself picking it up and studying it. Each one of them is typical in what you'd expect to see, holding the air of something none of them probably are. Though the other man in the photo is no one I've ever seen before and I can only imagine that he's probably just as complicated as the rest of them. Then I suddenly give my head a shake when I catch myself running a gloved finger over Tseng's image, shorter hair in a high ponytail and a lighter air than what he seems to carry now, though still somewhat hypnotic to look at even then.

What am I doing? I think.

Months ago I despised them all. I even blamed them for more than what they were probably responsible for. And now, I'm trying to see something deeper, almost like I believe they're something more than subhuman and I try to tell myself that they're not. Maybe it helps to renew that blame when I set my focus on Reno to remind me that there's nothing of worth in them.

But then again, it might just be the unspoken threat that he is to me talking.

Wild hair, a little shorter then, open shirt, careless attitude. He's the typical bad boy, born and raised in the slums, most-likely. Then I suddenly think as I cover his image with my thumb that Sephiroth shared some of the similarities.

I didn't know him well enough to know how he behaved but from his appearance, there were things about him that strayed from the Shinra image as well. Bared chest, long hair—too long—and I suddenly snort when it dawns on me that Tseng never bats an eyelash at anyone neatly adorned, not even Rufus who's somewhat in between and apparently shares a piece of history with him somewhere.

It's no wonder he claims he has bad luck, I think—ironically—before I quietly contemplate that no matter how much he tries to hide himself behind that stoic façade of his, he still can't hide from who he really is. Though I quickly put the picture down as quietly as I can and crouch defensively the moment I hear the muffled and insane melody of Rufus' voice somewhere near the side of Tseng's home.

He's talking on his PHS and moving with a quick stride toward his office, and I'm caught off guard for a moment when I note that he almost sounds flirtatious, making me wonder if he's talking to Tseng again. Then I tell myself that this is my chance to find out where he's gone, and I decide to take the risk by following him as obscurely as I can.

"I certainly hope you were unscathed," I hear Rufus say, alarming me a little in regard to Tseng possibly getting into trouble as he nods and closes the door to his office. Then he walks over to his laptop and turns it on. "I'm going to put you on the speakerphone. Hang on for a moment."

Then he connects his cell to the speaker on his wooden desk and takes a moment to stretch upwards before letting his hands fall to his sides and shaking them out a little, and then he hits a button to complete the connection.

"There," he says, letting the person on the other end know that it's okay to talk again, "Now, tell me that I'm not going to have to bring you back on short notice."

Although he says it, he almost looks like he'd prefer the opposite as a slightly hungry look washes over Rufus' eyes and his lips curl mischievously when he slyly comments, "However, I can think of plenty for you to do around here."

"Uh… Yeah. Actually, I was thinkin sendin me out where ya sent Tseng, ya know, ta make sure him an Elena don't fall into another trap might be a bit preferable than rushin back ta finish diggin out yer bog, Sir."

"I'm sure I could find something else for you to do," Rufus toys, cocking his brow as he adjusts his coat before sitting down and picking up his pen to fiddle with it as he speaks, silver, solid, and almost too fitting to his taste that it comes across as ironic. "Besides, Tseng and Elena are only checking up on Marino. The man's becoming a little too wealthy for my taste."

"Heh. Ya think e's gonna wind up outshinin ya, Sir?"

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Rufus answers with conviction.

Then he straightens up and smirks like he knows he can rely on Tseng, if he hasn't already made alternative plans. "Besides, that obese sack of flatulence isn't exactly a priority of mine right now."

"Course not, Sir. Ya jus wanna make sure he ain't gonna be successful."

"Of course," Rufus darkly purrs before leaning forward and stroking his fingers over a picture on his desk as if he's petting it, "now tell me what you've found out so far… Reno."

"Hm. Well. Besides the fact that I feel like I'm runnin 'round in circles. It ain't jus Turks."

"I see."

"Yeah. Koerin's gone an gotten 'imself some ex-soldiers ta add ta whatever his agenda is."

"Ah. I don't like the sound of that," Rufus admits and sits back, taking the picture with him and still petting it with tracing fingers.

"Yeah. Well, ain't nothin I can do 'bout that, ya know?"

"Yes. I know. So tell me, what _are _we dealing with?"

"Ex-Soldiers, a few scattered members from Avalanche, an of course, some ex-Turks that ya pissed off when ya decided ta run the company a little _too_ differently from yer father."

"I don't see what the problem was," Rufus states as if he really is wondering what he did to piss off even his own men.

"Uh. Pay cuts an threats of death don't exactly make people happy, Sir," Reno answers before there's a long moment of silence while Rufus knits his brows and stares blankly at the empty wall to the right of his desk like he's not listening, "an underminin em like ya did, don't exactly fix nothin either."

"I'm afraid I don't see your point."

"'Course not, Sir."

"Well if it was that bad, I'm sure you would have been the first one to go."

"Heh. Yeah. Well, guess my loyalties are a little diff'rent."

"They certainly are," Rufus mutters, stroking the picture in his hand again before putting it back so I can finally see what his strange obsession is that seems to soothe him, and it's Dark Nation.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing," Rufus answers before telling Reno he wants him to work harder at getting more answers and that he doesn't want Reno involving himself with Tseng's task because they're practically on a vacation.

"Vacation?"

"Yes. They're meeting the man in Costa Del Sol," he tells him as I step back, satisfied with knowing where he is now, and I stop out of curiosity when Reno points something curious out.

"Ya know, ya never used ta send 'im out as much as ya do now."

"I'm aware of that."

"So, why now? How come yer always sendin him out on chocobo runs like ya wanna keep 'im busy but outta harm's way? Ya know, if I did'n know any better—"

"That's enough, Reno," Rufus says, cutting Reno off and narrowing his eyes like he's agitated all of the sudden, playful bantering washed away.

"Ya don't want 'im knowin anythin, do ya?"

"I never said that," Rufus answers, taking a deep breath and relaxing a little. "I believe I'm just as curious as everyone else."

"So how come ya never let him get too far in his _private _endeavours then?"

"You know how unhealthy he gets when he's obsessed. He doesn't eat… He doesn't sleep…"

"Yeah, yeah, an he turns inta the ultimate bitch ta be 'round. I know. So yer sayin yer keepin 'im busy ta keep 'im pleasant?" Reno mumbles, sarcasm dripping from his tone with no fear of a repercussion, "Healthy."

"Don't start."

"Ya ever gonna tell 'im ya know what e's been up ta?"

"He doesn't want me knowing."

"Fuck, Rufus," Reno mutters as if he's no longer talking to his boss. It's like he's talking to a friend or family member instead, "Ya know as well as I do that e's fuckin scared'a somethin."

"He's scared of not knowing."

"No. There's somethin else," Reno adds as I take another step back, thinking I should go now, despite how desperately I want to stay and find out what they know. But I've gotten my answers and I know where he is now, and I regretfully step back again, disturbing a nest of angry wasps, "Somethin's been botherin 'im fer a lot longer, an ya know it."

I must be cursed, I think, as I bat the angry creatures away, upsetting them more and trying not to make a sound. And as if there's a thin veil and I'm in a different world than everyone else, Rufus sighs like he knows there's something more, and Reno points out that he thinks Tseng is hiding something as well. Or more curiously, someone.

"Seriously?" Rufus asks before he smirks to himself and mentally wanders off for a quick instant, long enough to quietly mutter to himself, "That would explain the toad."

At this point, there's a few things I'm concerned about. But the wasps are my biggest priority as I stumble and try to remain concealed. Unfortunately, I'm left with only one option as a way to find relief from the stinging assault that I can't even relieve by screaming.

And I'm slightly thankful that the lagoon is close enough to get to, to immerse myself in, and slightly unthankful because it's a lagoon.

Tseng isn't the only one who suffers from bad luck, I remind myself. Although mine might be a little more different, and even if he believed me when I told him I was awkward, I doubt he would realize exactly how awkward I meant, and I wonder what he'd think of me if he saw me now.

_Typically unimpressed,_ I think, as Rufus tells Reno he thinks he heard something and decides to let him go. Then he gets up and carefully opens his door to take a cautious look around.

He sees nothing though, save for a few ripples on the surface of a lagoon that tells him nothing. It's windy, and I'm thankful that I don't need to breathe as I sink farther down and he approaches closer.

Like a hawk, he scans the grounds with narrowed and suspicious eyes, like ice and ever careful. His hand pushes his outer coat aside, holding it against the wind and ensuring that his gun is readily available.

With his other hand, he brushes his bang from his eyes. The effort is futile. The wind only pushes it back and he steps carefully back, never looking below the surface of the filthy sewer water's edge that he stands by before he nods with another quickening scan over the grounds and decides that there's nothing to be concerned about.

Then he stops, tilts his head, and knits his brows together as he looks down at the dried out shrubs standing nearby. He stares for a moment, narrowing his eyes before he cocks his brow and kneels down to pick something up.

He takes another cautious look around, holding a piece of vibrantly tattered red cloth and curiously toys with it, accentuating the monochrome appearance he has in contrast. Then he turns and stares at Tseng's home and lowers his head like a hunting animal, and he smirks with a quick snort.

I must have caught the edge of my cloak, as worn and old as the ends are, and a piece must have easily torn off. And as if that's not enough to set Tseng off if or when he finds out, Rufus has to go a step further by pulling his PHS back out and turning so his back is to the wind.

"Ah. Reno, My most beloved—"

"Huh?"

"Nothing, Dear Turk… What was it that you said you found in Tseng's house again?"

* * *

It felt like it took forever for Rufus to leave before I was able to make my way to Junon to catch the next ship. All the while, he constantly toyed with the scrap of torn fabric before putting it in his pocket and telling Reno that he wanted him to find out where it came from.

"You're good at finding things," Rufus told him. "Impeccable."

_Great,_ I thought.

That's just what I need to close Tseng back up after nearly getting him to open up and relax around me. Of course there's no guarantee they'd ever know it was me. I'm sure a lot of people wear old and tattered red garments. But I know I'm kidding myself as I stay in the shadows of the ship taking me across the ocean.

However, I don't know what it is that makes it worse for Tseng.

It might be the fact that I'm nothing more than an unstable experiment, unpredictable and just as capable as destroying the world as Sephiroth, someone who fought alongside Avalanche, an ex-Turk, or the fact that I was in love with his deceased lover's mother and was there before it all started.

It's best if I don't think about it too much as I focus on the waves sparkling from the pale afterglow of a passing tropical storm. The wake casts a golden hue about everything it touches, making it seem warm and comforting while the stirring waters dance beneath it.

Hypnotic, they seem, encouraging me to travel to places I don't want to go to right now. But like always, she's all I can think about when I try not to think.

Though her voice and image have grown distant lately, and I hang on more for the sake of not letting go as opposed to really hanging on. No matter which way I turn, I feel like I'm turning on one or the other. The weight pulls me down as I wonder which one I should choose…

A memory that will be never be anything more than a memory, or something alive that could be even more alive.

No answers though.

There's never any answers, and I lose myself in the hypnotic dance of sparkling lights that suddenly turn to snow.

* * *

It's a vast field of snow that I'm looking at, realizing it's familiar in an unwelcome way. Flurries dance wildly in the uncaring winds and under the colourless skies, and I hold my hand out to watch the flakes melt as they land, wondering where they came from. It's beautiful, though foreboding in a misgiving way. And an anxiousness builds inside over what it could possibly mean.

Then I turn around to see myself crouched down, facing away from myself and covered in a thin blanket of the glittering snow, and I'm holding onto something. At first, I only stare with a subtle curiosity, unable to turn away and filled with an alarming dread the moment I think I realize what it is that I'm holding.

There's outstretched legs, hardly noticeable at first because they're nearly buried, and the slacks are too familiar to bring me any comfort. Standard Turk pants, they look like, and I almost dread wanting to see anything more. But it's instinct that drives me, and I find myself rushing to aid whatever phantom might really be lurking before I'm stunned by an invisible barrier like the last time, and I'm still unable to break passed it.

I feel like choking when I see the pale and lifeless hand that falls from wherever it was while the other me moves its arm to stroke what he's holding, closing Tseng's eyes, I think, and I wonder why I keep seeing this.

"Sir?" I hear a foreign voice ask from behind me, concerned and wary. "Sir... W-we're docked now."

"What?" I mutter, still somewhere in between the visions of dreams and barely aware of what I'm really doing or where I really am.

"Costa Del Sol, Sir... W-we've been de-boarding for over half an hour now..."

"Half an hour," I mutter, suddenly able to shake the image away and wondering where time went before I snap out of the concerning trance and snap around to face the man, making him nervously step back.

"Sorry," is all I say while keeping my head down and I walk passed him without an explanation while my boots carry the sound of the weight that I'm feeling.

* * *

When I set foot in the town of Costa Del Sol, it takes me a while to locate Tseng from the shadows that I stick to. But when I finally find him, I find myself almost smirking at the irony of the role he's playing. I don't though, despite that I almost do. He's wearing a loud shirt with a tropical print, white slacks, sunglasses, and a straw hat that's similar to what Elena's wearing.

And I can only guess that they decided to go along with playing the unhappy couple since they've been doing nothing but bicker and disagree over everything since I found his trail. From the food to the temperature, and even the room which I haven't seen yet, either one or both of them has a problem with nearly everything, making them both appear like ignorant tourists full of the snob.

They even continue their petty play when they find the man they're looking for and shake his hand. It turns out that the man has managed to gain his status through real estate. Apparently since the fall of Shinra, there hasn't been any regulations to stop anyone from taking advantage of opportunities once deemed illegal, allowing him to deal with the shady undertaking of abusing his rights to sell land that doesn't belong to him at prices far higher than what they're worth.

Slime is the first thought that comes to mind, and something about the subtleties of Tseng's personality have shifted in a way that concerns me. No one picks up on it though, and he carries himself with the same calm and nonchalant attitude that he always carries.

But he stays behind when Elena leaves, catching her attention and she knits her brows at him.

"S-Norman?" she asks, almost blowing their cover by nearly calling him Sir, and he just looks through her, a slight disdain in his eyes before he waves her away and tells her to go and do what she does best—shopping.

Whether it's part of the act or not, I'm not sure. And whether she's as angered as she looks by the comment is something else I'm not sure of.

"Pfph… Women," the man mutters, rolling his eyes after she leaves to add emphasis to the sexist comment while Tseng smirks back at him and wryly says, "Tell me about it."

Then he presses his finger onto what looks like a map or a schematic lying on top of the man's desk and asks, "How much for this one?"

"Something to surprise the little spitfire with?"

"No. Something for myself," he answers while pulling out a chequebook and a cheap looking pen he must have bought from one of the novelty shops. I almost smile again when I take a closer look and realize that it's one of those pens where the woman's shirt falls off when it's tilted, and I wonder how he's able to hide his distaste over it, knowing it's not something he'd normally feel drawn to.

"Ha. A little mistress on the side to impress?"

"Perhaps," Tseng detachedly mutters, seeming disinterested in the question and the answer and he clicks on the pen, readying it for writing with.

"That's beach front property," the man answers, looking at him suspiciously before he takes a deep breath and adds, "It's going to cost you a pretty coin."

"Cost is no concern to me," Tseng answers, losing his façade and turning serious, making me wonder if it's what he was supposed to do or if something more is going on than I'm aware of.

"Well," the man hesitates as he looks the half-Wutian up and down, focusing on the cheap clothes and hat with a look of scepticism, "I'm afraid I can't accept a cheque from you, Norm."

"Norman."

"No hard feelings. It's just that when we're talking a deal this big, I'm afraid I can't go on faith alone."

"Understood," Tseng answers. Then he bows his head and puts the chequebook and pen away, "Will gil be acceptable?"

"I highly doubt you have that kind of money," the man outright points out before heartily chuckling at him. Then he shakes his head and wipes at the corner of his eyes to suggest he's gotten a good laugh out of the offer.

"Try me," Tseng calmly says before he places the hard-cased bag he carried in with him onto the man's desk and exposes a pile of gil, "I believe there's more than enough here. And if you're kind to me, I may even let you have it all."

"Kind…" the man mutters in a sudden trance as he stares at the currency in front of him. Then he suspiciously looks Tseng up and down again with endless thoughts running behind his criminal eyes before the corner of his mouth turns up and he gets up from his seat, "I take it your wife is kept in the dark about whatever it is that you do on the side, Mr… uh… Mr…"

"Wielding."

"That's not your real name, Is it?"

"I don't see where the relevance in that question is."

"And the lady?"

"The lady is as the lady appears."

"Ha. I see," the man says, chuckling like he's impressed by the fact that he thinks he's in the company of a familiar crook, "May I ask what it is about this property that impresses you so much?"

"It's beach; open to the ocean," Tseng answers, "accessible and private, and away from suspicious eyes."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with another Wutian uprising, would it?" the man hesitantly asks, looking Tseng up and down again.

"I'm afraid I can't answer that," Tseng tells him before running his fingers over the case and staring at the man through his ratty straw hat. "Do we have a deal?"

"I'll send someone to clean the place immediately for you," the man responds, pulling the case toward him and reaching into a drawer for a key.

"That won't be necessary."

"I'd rather have it done. The place is a mess," the man confesses. "It just came into our possession and I haven't had a chance to clean it out… In fact, I hadn't expected to make such a quick deal on it yet… There's a lot of work that still needs to be done."

"No worries," Tseng answers, leaning forward and snatching the key from the man's hand, "I'd rather have my own men clean it out."

"Please, it's the least I can do."

For a moment Tseng falls silent.

Then he bows his head and closes his eyes as if he's irritated and doesn't want to show it before he leans over the man's desk and lowly confides, almost threateningly, "I know what's in that house," he tells him, "and I _personally_ want to be the one to go through it _all_."

Despite what I'm thinking, I'm highly suspecting that this isn't part of Rufus' orders, and I'm beginning to wonder what kind of secrets he keeps from his own Turks, even Shinra.

Though I could be wrong. But no time is wasted when the man mischievously smiles without showing what his thoughts are and drops the key into Tseng's awaiting hand.

"Very well," he slowly mutters, "it's all yours."

"Thank you," Tseng courteously says. Then he pushes the Gil closer to the man to state that he can have all of it, "Your cooperation is much appreciated."

"Shall we celebrate with a drink?"

"I don't drink," Tseng tells him before he walks over to the man's collection of liquor, stares at it and licks his lips like he'd like nothing more than a drink. Though it's barely noticeable, "However, I did become quiet the connoisseur of sinful combinations at one time. Perhaps you'd like to try something I came up with myself. Very quenching, and very delectable."

"What is it?"

"I called it the General's demise," he tells him before he smirks and turns his head slightly as if he's taking in the irony of something. Then he returns to the cabinet and starts to pull various bottles out while explaining, "Mostly because one glass is so deceptively delicious, that you'll have to have another."

"That good, huh?" the man asks with his brows screwed in a mixture of interest and mistrust.

"Yes. But I should warn you," Tseng says, smoothly and almost seductively while he brings the drink to the man and watches him greedily gulp it back, barely tasting it, "No matter how much you might want more, one glass is more than enough."

"Why's that?"

"Because before you know it," Tseng answers as he continues to watch the man while he puts the near-empty drink down, "it will turn on you."

Then he smiles at the man while the man looks back at him and lets out a burst of laughter.

"Good?"

"You'll have to tell me how you made it."

"I'm afraid not," Tseng tells him as he puts the key into his pocket and starts to walk away. "More than one drink can turn dangerously addictive."

Then he walks out, leaving the same air of mystery that he always leaves while the man mutters out, "Wutians," as if he expects no less or more from them and shakes his head before snickering.


	17. A Side That I Like

**A Side that I Like**

* * *

"Hm," Tseng mutters as they enter the room they're staying in and he looks around with disappointment while Elena takes off her hat as if she's relieved to do so and runs her fingers through her bangs, "one bed."

"Mm-hm," she nods as she rustles both her hands through her hair to fluff it out and he turns to stare at her as she does it, almost like there's something he finds fascinating about it when he tells her that she can have it.

"Sir?" she asks before innocently offering, "We could share."

"No," Tseng says with a humble shake to his head, "I'm afraid I've gotten used to sleeping alone."

"Well…" With a twist to her mouth, she makes it hard to hide the fact that she's hesitant about voicing her opinion but she builds up the courage and finally says, "Then why don't you take it?"

"Pardon?"

"Well, I've had it for every other mission. I think it's your turn... Sir."

"That's very thoughtful of you," he says as he comes up to her and places a brotherly kiss on her cheek, "but I'm afraid it wouldn't be proper if I were to take it."

Then he rustles her hair like he was looking for a reason to do it and walks into the bathroom while talking over his shoulder.

"Consider it yours."

* * *

When he comes back out, he's dressed more casual and looking relieved that he's not wearing the tasteless outfit he was wearing earlier. He even seems more comfortable than he was in the breezier cottons he was wearing even though he kept them just as concealing as everything else. But I suppose it's the look he didn't have a taste for as he walks across the room with a white dress-shirt, collar and sleeves done up, and a pair of black slacks to compliment it.

"You're not retiring?"

"No," he answers as he sits on the chair by the desk and puts a dressier pair of shoes on, "there are still some things I'd like to look into."

"I can go with you."

"I'd prefer it if you didn't," he tells her.

Then he sighs and walks over to the balcony to open it and steps out, causing me to step farther back while he smiles at something inward. Then he turns to lean against the rail and watches Elena go into the bathroom so that she can change into her night clothes.

After that, he turns around and looks directly at where I'm at and whispers, "I know you're there, Vincent."

And the next thing I know, I'm up on the rail of the balcony and standing against the wall that's hidden between the architectural designs of the building so he's the only one that can see me.

"How did you know?" I ask him, quietly as I crouch and conscious of being heard.

"Because you're weird like that."

Instead of retorting on the type of comment I'm starting to expect from him, I simply lower my head and ask, "How long did you know for?"

"I'm not certain," he admits, "but I suspected you were around when I made a particular purchase."

"And if I wasn't?" I ask, wondering if he would have said anything if he suspected otherwise, and he carelessly shrugs like his actions had no secret agenda behind them while he keeps his attention on the door to the bathroom.

"It would make no difference," he tells me. "You still wouldn't know any more or less." Then he smiles and looks at his watch, "Except for the fact that I make one hell of a killer drink."

"I was surprised he was still alive when you left," I admit, half-suspecting that Tseng was going to kill him at the time. But he makes no effort to make me believe that he's not as underhanded as I've always suspected.

"The agent is timed," he mutters. Then he rolls his shoulders and grimaces uncomfortably before confessing, "I wasn't going to chance him finding out the money was fake."

"Is that what Rufus wanted?"

"Not initially," he aloofly answers, "but due to the fact that he's the man we were looking for, and the fact that he had his hands into more than just real estate, I doubt Rufus will mind." Then he snickers and curls his finger over his mouth while looking at the stone platform of the balcony, "Not to mention it would be difficult to trace it back to me if he did."

"And if he did find out?"

"Then I suppose I'd have some explaining to do," he detachedly answers as if he suspects the consequences would be nothing of concern to him.

With a frown over the distaste for what he does sometimes, I crouch a little lower and watch him for signs of remorse. But he doesn't show any and I don't bother to ask what else the man had his hands into, even though I hope it would be enough to justify Tseng's actions. And I try to convince myself that the man probably deserved whatever fate he met or is about to meet since I saw the man, and scum is generally scum.

Not to mention, he's going to have his own degree of distaste for my own carelessness if or when Rufus and Reno decide to confront him on what they found and suspect. So I try to brush it off in hopes of not making things worse for myself, and I lower my head even more while attempting to change the topic.

"I think you should take the bed."

"Don't be ridiculous," he tells me even though he seems just as happy to change the topic as I am, "I already told Elena she could have it."

Then he shakes his head at my ridiculous motion, just as the latch to the bathroom door warns us that it's opening and Elena calls out, "Sir?"

"Pardon?"

"I thought I heard you say something."

"Mm," Tseng mumbles before he smirks and steps into the middle of the balcony as if he were alone, but blocking the way if she decides to come out.

"I did. I thought you had already come back out."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't hear what you said."

"I said there's a madman standing out here telling me that I should force you to sleep on the floor so that I can have the bed."

She doesn't say anything after that, and I have no idea what kind of expression she's wearing over the comment before I hear the bathroom door close again and Tseng quirks his brow like he's insulted.

Then he turns to me with a smirk and wryly mutters, "If looks could kill..."

"You like her, don't you?"

"In all honesty, Vince," he says with a retiring sigh as he steps over to where I am and places his hands on the balcony's rail to stare off into the distance, "I'm jealous of her."

Then he frowns as if the admittance bothers him as he looks over the grounds and subtly runs his fingers over the smooth edge of the rail without explaining further, and he quietly says, "I'd like to take you somewhere," like he wants to change the topic again.

"Where?"

"Somewhere," he repeats and lowers his head in the semblance of a subtle nod.

After that, he looks up at me with that stone expression of his and says he'd like me to meet him near the outskirts where I originally was before he answers my unspoken question.

"She won't get suspicious. I've been disappearing ever since I came back after the Temple."

"No one minds?"

"No one has the right to mind," he says, nodding again, "As you've had the opportunity to discover, I've had Rufus rewrite my contract to include certain privileges. I can do whatever I want."

"Why do you hide it then?"

"Because my business is no one else's business."

After that, he snaps his fingers and points in the direction he wants to meet me in as if I'm a dog that he's ordering around, and he walks toward the door to leave from the front entrance without looking back.

"Five to ten minutes. There's a small errand I need to run first," he mutters, and then he adjusts his watch as he grabs a black blazer and opens the door while calling out to Elena, "I'm leaving."

"When will you be back?" she calls, sounding muffled through the bathroom door.

"Fairly late," he tells her before encouraging her not to wait up for him. Then he quietly mutters to himself with his head down as he closes the door, "If I come back at all."

Uncertain how to take the last comment and shrugging off the fact that he's probably implying I'll kill him, or that either Rufus or Reno had already questioned him, I find myself hopping to the ground below and making my way back to the tropical forests of Costa Del Sol.

All the while, I'm wondering why I'm letting him bark orders at me without explanation, or even why I trust him enough to follow them at this point. Although it bothers me, I can't help but give into the curiosity that he constantly arouses and I follow the orders and wait for whatever he has planned, if anything at all.

* * *

He doesn't waste as much time as I thought he would though, and I'm even half surprised that he showed up at all, barely giving me enough time to lose myself in the hypnotic flow of the veil of the partially thin clouds above. I was half-expecting him to never show up at all, leaving me here to wait like a fool so he could be spiteful like he often is.

But I hear him approaching with that unmistakeable light step of his as if he's walking on air. Though he walks fast this time, despite the elusive sound of his steps, and his hand is in his pocket, fiddling while he holds a bag with the other and keeps his head down like he doesn't want to be seen or draw any attention to himself.

And to top it off, he doesn't even say anything as he walks passed me, and he doesn't bother to acknowledge me either.

Instead, he continues down the worn out paths of sun-bleached sand through the shadows of tropical plants, trees, and buildings that are within visible view—all taking on the colour of night—as he continues into the outskirts through the concealment of it all. I can only assume that he wants me to follow without being seen until he sends the signal that it's all right.

Cloak and dagger, I muse, and I begin to wonder if this is how it's always going to be with him.

* * *

It seems like a long journey before he finally turns toward a more private sector of the beach, despite the opening from the small forest that leads to it. But out of the strange and conflicting respect I carry for him, I remain in the shadows and crouch down, watching him as he approaches a heavily weeded garden that surrounds something that could have been an elaborate home or getaway at one time.

Though it has broken windows now, and the exterior hasn't been taken care of for years. Some of the outer walls have become victim to the native plant life that's claimed it for its own, and he stops at it before almost bowing in a strange form of respect to it. Then he pulls out the key I recognize as the one he obtained from the man he was dealing with earlier that day and he waves his hand at me to call me to his side.

* * *

"This area is private," he mutters, once I'm close enough and he pushes the steel gate open with a loud and grinding complaint.

"Needs to be oiled," I mutter back, not knowing why I bothered to state the obvious, or even why I feel uncomfortable all the sudden.

He doesn't seem to notice though. His mind seems to be occupied by something else instead, and he only responds with a mild, "Mm," before closing it after we both step into the concealment of high walls.

Then he stops in the middle of the pathway and looks down, like he's uncertain about something as he pulls a chocolate out of his pocket and I notice that he doesn't bother to offer me one this time.

"I hope I'm not making a mistake," he admits before biting his treat in half and refusing to look around, and I wonder if he means a mistake by buying the place or a mistake by taking me here. Though either possibility leaves me with little explanation over why he'd do either.

I don't say anything though. Instead, I only study him and his sudden melancholy mood, and I wonder why he's more concerned about staring at his chocolate and eating it as slowly as he can instead of paying more attention to what he'd falsely overpaid for. I also frown at the fact that he's toying with his locket again, and I take another look around, wondering what this place means to him.

"I just can't let it go," he mutters before he looks over at the home and scans the overgrown garden that's home to a crumbling fountain that probably worked at one time, and he sets his focus on it with a look of loss as his voice grows more quiet and dead-sounding, "It belonged to us."

"Us…"

"Mm," He replies, not really answering whether he meant Shinra or him and someone else.

Then he walks up to the door and notions for me to follow while telling me that, "I stayed here before I started looking for Rufus," as if he's trying to take his mind off of something. Then after that, he turns around and faces me while toying with the key and confesses, "I don't really know why I'm bringing you here, Vince, or even if this is a good idea."

Instead of asking for clarity though, I only wonder if he's going to change his mind while I simultaneously wonder what it is that's making him so hesitant all the sudden.

"I haven't had a chance to clean the place or fix it up."

With an awkward snicker, he waves the key at the grounds and then abruptly turns to place it in the door.

"But I don't know where else to take you," he says with his head slightly turned, "and maybe a part of me wants to show you."

After he unlocks the door, he holds his hand back to tell me to stay while he takes a quick look inside with a small flashlight. Then he lets out a heavy breath as if he'd been holding it and reluctantly nods to reassure himself before he motions for me to follow him inside.

"We bought this place about a year before he died," he distantly tells me as he walks into the middle of the room and takes a lantern out of the bag he was carrying.

Then he places it on the coffee table that looks like it was smashed apart with something and then clumsily put back together before he lights the lantern and tells me, "When I came back, it was after meteor. All the locks were changed and I had to break in... I didn't know why at the time." Then he holds up the key and sarcastically snickers, "But I guess I do now."

I can hear him. But his voice seems like it's far away as I take a look at the broken picture-frames and shattered glass along the walls, like someone had deliberately trashed the place. Then I look back over at him and wonder if he was the one who did it.

_To erase his memories,_ I think, before I study him while he stands next to the coffee table.

He looks at everything like he doesn't see the same things I'm seeing, and I wonder if maybe he just doesn't want to.

"How long did you stay here?" I ask before I pick up a turned over picture and study the broken glass and torn photo of him and Sephiroth—an old one, I assume since Tseng has his hair in a pony tail that I'd seen from some of the other photos in his home. It might have been on the beach or somewhere else. It's hard to tell because the scratches on it are too heavy, making it difficult to make out.

"About a year," he answers, still not moving and staring at me like he's not even seeing me.

And I nod while scanning the walls in the low lighting and I set my focus on a large map that looks like he drew it himself. Rough lines, almost frenzied in their depth, and markers placed about it in several random spots that I don't recognize at first.

But when I step closer, I study the pattern and I realize that most of the markers are placed over locations of known laboratories around the world. I can only assume that the ones I don't recognize are marking the same types of facilities and I catch myself frowning at the obsessive nature I'm picking up on by looking at it before I look over at the torn sofa and note the old pillow and blankets thrown over it, realizing he'd slept in front of his map.

_He's obsessed,_ I think to myself as he nods and steps up to me. But I'm not sure if I can blame him for being so. I may not have known the extent of the experiments that were done to me, but at least I knew where to start.

"Laboratories… All that I could find," he tells me, and adds while standing in a still, almost ghostlike stance as he stares at the map behind me, "I've travelled to them all."

Then he fiddles with his locket again and takes an elegant step forward.

"I literally ransacked every one of them."

"Why don't you ask Rufus to help you?" I wonder aloud while he slowly shakes his head and lowers it.

"It's complicated."

Without elaborating on his thoughts, he steps forward again and lightly runs his fingers over the papers he stuck together to create his chart and taps them over a spot as he mutters, "I couldn't find any in the North."

"What about Gast's place?"

"No. I looked there. I even went through all of his records in hopes that I could find the location of something I didn't know about, but there was nothing."

With a wary nod, I look back at the rest of the room and I can almost see him losing it in whatever way that he did. Angry at the world, it seems, and not just himself or Sephiroth. Then I lower my head and step behind him to place my hands over his shoulders, attempting to offer him some form of comfort by massaging them while he continues to run his fingers over his map as if he's in a trance.

"Mm," he mumbles before he leans forward and lowers his head, letting me know that he doesn't want me to stop as he closes his eyes. "You have no idea how good that feels."

"I have an idea," I tell him before I pull him back to rest him against my chest and stare at his map with him, wondering if there's anything I can do to help.

"Do you?"

"Mm," I mutter while hugging my arms around him and attempting to take his mind away from his heavy thoughts, "judging from the fact that you seem to like it."

With a mild snicker, he sighs and mutters in an almost illegible breath, "At times, I almost wish I could keep you forever."

"What would your friends say?"

"That's the problem," he confesses.

Then he stands straight and walks over to the bag to take it into the kitchen that seems to be in better condition.

"It's not so much that I've managed to keep my preferences from everyone but Rufus, even though I highly suspect that Reno has a good idea of where I stand."

He snickers at the irony before he pulls what looks like a pastry box out of the bag and two bottles of water, and I lean against the doorframe with my arms crossed, watching him.

"Nor is it the fact that you worked against us with Avalanche."

"I was hoping you would have forgotten those things by now."

With a subtle smile, he catches my weak attempt at a joke and I suddenly wonder when the last time it was that I made a similar attempt.

"I like that," he says with a nod as he pulls a pastry out and walks over to me. "You do have a sense of humour." Then he playfully adds, "Dry as it may seem," before he motions for me to take the pastry and confesses, "I bought two."

"I'm not hungry."

"That's irrelevant," he answers with an impish glint in his eyes. "It's the taste that's appealing; not the ability to satiate a hunger."

_There's more than one kind of hunger,_ I note silently, and I take it from him while I watch him walk back to grab his own piece while he licks his fingers from the one he handed to me. And I wonder what type of hunger it is that he's trying to satisfy before I take a chance and bite into what he's given me.

"I always get these when I come here. They're just right," He tells me, looking off into space and taking in the scent before he takes his own bite. Then he turns to me and tilts his head as if he's confused about something before he broadly smiles and snickers, almost satisfied, and takes another bite.

"What?"

"Nothing," he answers before he grabs both the bottles and walks passed me, back into the living room, and I wonder if he's always walked that way.

"I wouldn't want to spoil it."

Even when I assume he's being flirtatious, he lets out no physical hint and moves as if he feels no need to draw attention to himself.

And at that moment, I think I finally realize what it was that made him smile like that. Though I didn't even notice it at first until I catch myself watching him with a physical interest that the corner of my mouth had turned up slightly, and that he must have caught it.

"Now, as I was saying," he starts before he puts the bottle on the coffee table and walks over to a small cupboard near the bedroom door, "I fear the problem would be Rufus."

"Rufus?" I repeat, wondering why I still don't react to him the way that I do to Reno.

"Mm," he mutters with a slight nod while he finishes chewing and pulls out some folded blankets that appear to have been saved from his destructive outburst, "I'm afraid that if he knew about my relationship with you, he'd want me to persuade you to work for him."

"I wouldn't."

"I know that," he casually says as if neither of us really needed to point it out, "but Rufus can be a real pain—as Reno's already found out."

"Reno?"

"Yes. Apparently, Rufus is under the impression that Reno has some kind of arrangement with Cloud, and he constantly harasses him over it."

"Arrangement?" I ask, unable to hide the slight surprise in my voice.

"Yes. We haven't been able to prove it, but Rufus suspects Reno may be using Cloud to deliver parcels to his brother."

With a quirked brow, Tseng takes another bite of his pastry and closes his eyes for a moment as if his dessert is far more interesting than what he's telling me. And maybe it is. But to me, it's not, and I find myself interested in it for some strange reason.

"Prove it?" I mumble before I pick at my own pastry, almost not wanting to admit that it tastes as good as it does, and I wonder why there'd be a need to _prove _anything if all Reno's doing is hiring Cloud to deliver parcels to his own brother.

"Mm," Tseng mumbles again as he tosses the blankets on the floor in front of the fire place and kneels down to spread them out with one hand, "it's old news."

Then he quirks his brow again and sits back on his heels as if he's just had a thought.

"But I suppose it isn't to you."

"It's the first I've heard of it," I admit while I kneel down at the opposite end of the blankets, assuming what his plans are, and I help him even them out.

"It's really quite juvenile, but when it comes to Shinra's image, no mistakes can be made."

"Mm," I mumble, agreeing and remembering how often I'd questioned the nature of the cover-ups I was involved in. Many seemed like they were nothing worth covering up, and others were just questionable.

"So, what's the scandal?" I ask with my head down before I take another bite and sense him staring at me like he's wondering if he should say anything.

Then he takes a moment to savour another bite and gets up to grab a heavy picture frame with a large portion of the picture still hanging out of it and pitches it into the fireplace. It's a painting of him and Sephiroth, and he pitches it like its only fire starter; nothing else, and I say nothing about it.

"Reno's brother is a criminal," he says as he looks around for more memories to fuel the fire I'm imagining he's about to start, "mostly petty crimes, but he made the mistake of committing murder when he was quite young."

"Mistake?" I ask, wondering when murder ever became a mistake.

"Hm," he muses before he frowns and slicks his hair back, "I say mistake because until that point, there was never any record of him partaking in a violent act."

"I see."

"Mm."

"So he's guilty by association."

"Yes. President Shinra, and even Rufus, felt and feel that one of their Turks socializing with a criminal in Corel Prison would tarnish the image they strive for. As a repercussion, Reno isn't allowed to speak to his brother, let alone send him gifts that would suggest a manner of affection."

"Do you think he is?"

"Let's just say," he says and pauses for a moment to mutter out, "fire," to get the fire started, "that if I did see or hear anything that could prove Reno has been keeping in touch with his brother that I would be obligated to say something to someone."

After that, a devilish smile and glint in his eyes light up, suggesting that _someone_ could mean _anyone_ to him.

And I probably would have smiled at the thought if it wasn't for him doing his best to hide a sudden discomfort.

"Sit down," I tell him before I stuff the rest of the pastry into my mouth and finish it off quickly while scooting onto the blanket and leaving enough room for him.

Then I boldly ask him after I finish swallowing, "What hurts?"

"Nothing," he answers, and I frown over the fact that he should know better than to lie to me by now.

"Don't lie to me," I tell him as I push him back and tilt his head to stare into his charcoal eyes, soft and almost hypnotic right now, "Just tell me where it hurts."

"Everywhere," He tells me, clearly but low. His features are unmoving as he states it as a cold fact. No bitterness, hatred, or even desire is carried on his breath, "But if you're referring to when I was standing, it was my leg."

"Do you really think you can hide this from the others forever?" I ask while I gently guide him to lie down.

"It's been working so far."

"Do you believe that?"

"Leviathan," he mutters, sounding frustrated all the sudden, and then he quickly pulls his leg away when I go to pull his shoe off, "You don't need to take my shoes off."

"Relax," I tell him, and try again before telling him that I think the others already suspect something is wrong with him and ignore the fact that I don't tell him what else they suspect.

"That's only suspect," he argues back. "Without proof, they don't have any concrete evidence."

"You sound like a Turk."

"I am a Turk, Vince."

"Vincent," I mutter, not meaning for my voice to trail off the way that it does when I remove his sock and stare at the bottom of his foot.

"I used to be very vain," he says, staring at the ceiling as if it will help him pretend that he's not exposed again.

"You still are," I tell him.

In an almost sick sort of way, I feel like I need to help him escape from himself before I run my thumbs along the scars that run along the bottoms of his feet, wondering why they even bothered to spare him his hands and face when they spared him nothing else.

"Maybe," he says, "but I meant physically."

With a mild snicker, he hooks his finger underneath his collar and lets out a deep breath before he looks down at me with that cross-eyed effect he sometimes has.

Then he quirks his brow and confides with a slight embarrassment, "I shaved my legs once."

"You did?" I ask, more so to encourage him to take his mind off the fact that he's exposed than to the fact that I find it mildly interesting to hear.

"Yes," he tells me while nodding before he turns his head and looks at the broken glass along the walls. "Of course, only Se— ... certain people knew about it. It would have been embarrassing if word got out about the head of the Turk department shaving his legs."

"So I take it you didn't go swimming or wear shorts until it grew back" I say, almost teasingly while trying to take my mind off the fact that he nearly said Sephiroth, and the fact that it bothers me before I kiss his toe and he tries to pull away, stretching his toes in the process like a cat.

"Don't do that."

"You don't like it?"

"No," he says before I try it again and watch him do the same thing.

"You're ticklish," I muse, almost surprised and loud enough for him to hear the accusation. Though I have to admit that I'd never seen anyone stretch their toes the way that he did.

"I can write with them," he tells me, catching where my focus is and I find myself almost smiling at the thought while he catches it and stares at me with a dreamlike glaze over his eyes, "It comes in handy when you're strapped to something and need to grab something that will help you out of a bind."

"I imagine it does," I admit while I take the risk to massage the bottom of his foot with a deeper, yet careful touch.

Then he lets out a moan without meaning to and smiles again.

"Leviathan... I think you missed your calling."

"What's that?"

"You would have been a fine masseuse."

After that, he stretches his arms out and arches his back before mindlessly muttering, "Maybe if you'd done this more for Lucrecia, she would have married you instead."

"I never did," I say, trying to brush off the feelings and memories he's suddenly stirred before I put his foot down and start taking his other shoe off while ignoring his inquisitive stare when I try to get off that topic, "I wanted to be a scientist, like my father."

"Ah," he muses. "That's right. Dr. Valentine was an outstanding man for his time."

Then he curiously looks at me again as I pull his sock off and unintentionally frown again, wondering how in the hell he was able to walk.

"Didn't she work under him?"

"She did," I tell him before I kiss the bottom of his other foot and he does the same thing.

"Stop it."

"You're not my boss," I tell him before I test his endurance and do it again, finding an odd satisfaction out of his reaction.

"Technically, I'm no one's boss anymore."

"But they still view you as one."

"Yes," he admits when I start massaging that one as well, and he moans and curiously asks, "Do you think that's why she chose Hojo?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't mean to be insensitive, Vince."

"Vincent."

"Mm… But maybe she liked your father."

"She respected him," I tell him before I stop and drift off to the memories of finding the records that she kept. And I remember her blaming herself for his death, thinking it was all her fault even though no one ever blamed her.

"I was only curious," he says, taking me out of my memories and wondering how long I was there, now that he's sitting up and putting his socks back on.

"Sorry," I mutter.

"No need," he tells me before he crawls over to the fire and stokes it, "I didn't mean to stir things up."

Then he looks down as if he's regretting something and mutters, "Perhaps I should go."

"I don't want you to," I tell him before his PHS rings and he answers it, causing me to shrink back the moment I hear Reno's trouble-making voice on the other end.


	18. Moonlight On the Water

**Moonlight on the Water**

* * *

Tseng is straight-faced, if not dire when he says, "So Rufus finds a red piece of cloth outside that's been there for Leviathan knows how long, and you immediately jump to the conclusion that…" and for a moment he pauses as if he's genuinely confused before asking, "Exactly what are you implying?"

"Ya saying I'm wrong?"

"I'm saying you're _dead_ wrong," Tseng answers before he starts to laugh like the whole idea is ridiculous.

"Explain the toad then."

"Are you serious?" he asks like the answer should be obvious to anyone with half a brain before he offers a condescending enlightenment to the redhead. "We're living on a farm."

Then he grabs me by the back of my cloak when I come to the conclusion that I should probably leave and he roughly yanks me toward him.

"They're everywhere, and they make less intrusive companions than I'm beginning to think any of you are."

After that, he starts to point out that he's seen all sorts of small animals in all of their homes as he pulls me closer and moves his hand over my shoulder to ensure that I don't try to leave again.

"Are you telling me that the rest of you are hiding playmates and that's why you've jumped to the ridiculous conclusion that you and Rufus have jumped to?"

"Whatever, Tseng…" Reno replies, sounding curt and ready to defend himself. "Maybe that's all it is… But it still don't explain the hair."

"Hair?" Tseng asks, sounding surprised again before Reno tells him about the hair that he found in his bathroom and how the feel of it was coarser than his, and Tseng immediately asks him what his fascination is with his hair all the sudden, causing the redhead to fumble.

"My goodness, Reno… I had no idea you'd been touching my hair… Do you do it when I'm unconscious?" Then he outright laughs at him, almost mockingly before accusingly asking, "Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"Fuck off, Tseng."

"Well, honestly, Reno…" Tseng starts, toying with him now and quirking his brow while sounding almost sarcastic, "You seem very determined to prove something… Is there a reason?"

"Yer bein an ass."

"No more of one than you, I'm afraid," he coolly answers before Reno gets fed up and tells him that he isn't talking to him anymore because he's an obstinate prick, and that the conversation is over.

But Tseng only takes it as fuel as he gets under Reno's skin while asking in an innocent tone, "Did I hit a nerve?"

Then he quirks his brow again, as if he's insulted, when he hears a click on the other end and then nothing but dead air, and he mutters while he stares at his PHS, almost like he's surprised, "He hung up on me."

* * *

After that, Tseng simply stands there and turns his attention to me, like he's regretting trusting me enough to let me in as far as he has and he purses his lips.

"I take it there's something you forgot to tell me," he says, and he pulls me closer with an abrupt jerk before roughly pushing me back while he puts his phone back in his pocket.

"Sorry," Is the best I can come up with, not wanting to risk making me sound like I'm coming up with excuses.

"Sorry?" he mockingly repeats as if the word has no meaning in his vocabulary. Then he lets out a stressful sigh and walks over to the fireplace to stoke it again while muttering, "You have no idea how difficult you're making things for me."

_I have a good idea,_ I think, while resisting the urge to apologize again and I risk stepping closer while he stiffens up and seems lost in his thoughts.

_He's closing himself off again,_ I think. He's regretting bringing me here and regretting ever seeking me out, and he's probably wondering why he ever let me in as I lower my head and give it my best effort to leave. But he says something that catches my attention, as low and not wanting to be heard as it is, and I take note of the heavy agitation that clings to his words.

"I don't want to be alone right now."

Then he turns around and leans against the brick to the side of the fireplace and stares at the floor. All the while, I fight off the urge to tell him that he's got Elena to keep him company, making me wonder more about what either of us is doing to each other as I stand there, unable to find words and I lower my head.

We remain silent after that, making the time that passes too awkward to be comfortable while we both stir in our own thoughts. Though I suspect mine are as focussed on him as his are on Sephiroth at the moment, given the way he's unconsciously running his fingers along the handle of the custom blade beneath his blazer, making me partly wonder if he's considering a failsafe way to get rid of me.

But his actions tell me that it's not what he's thinking before he lets out another sigh, straightens up, and takes a haunted look around as if he's seeing the place for the first time.

Then he licks his lips and stares through the bedroom door while quietly stating, "I shouldn't have brought you here."

For a moment, he simply stares into space, still focusing on the room before unwanted images of him and Sephiroth start to fill my head like they're being put there on purpose. But it stops the moment Tseng changes his focus and curls his finger over his mouth in thought.

"I honestly don't know what I was thinking," he says, referring to me again before he shakes his head to clear it out, slips his shoes on, grabs the lantern and starts to walk to the back door with a reluctant hand gesture telling me to follow.

"Where are we going?" I ask, not being able to come up with anything better to say while he opens the door and lets out another agitated sigh, suggesting that the answer to my question should have been obvious.

"Outside."

* * *

Somewhat relieved that he was as uncomfortable as I was inside, I follow him, despite the unwelcome feeling I'm getting from him all the sudden. But I also can't help but remind myself that I'm the one responsible for his change of mood, even though I pass the blame over to Reno for being the one to pick the worst time to ruin what seemed like progress.

The thought passes just as quickly the moment he stops where the stone pathway ends and branches off to the left though. The action is in the semblance of him hitting a wall and he stares at the untouched beech ahead of him as if he's reluctant about something. Or maybe he's just thinking of the past—the ghosts that live there, and I grit my teeth and lower my head.

Then I take a step forward, hoping that the sound of the metal against the stone doesn't make my closing presence too intrusive before I finally make a hesitant offer.

"I can take you back to Elena."

He shakes his head as an answer though, and his hand twitches uncommonly this time, like he wants to do something that he's unsure about.

"I used to walk on this beech," he distantly says before kicking at the sand with the toe of his shoe and staring at the ocean with a strange look in his eyes that he contradicts with a chastising sneer, "barefoot."

Then he snickers and shakes his head again, like he thinks he's being ridiculous but can't stop as he nods toward the water.

"Perhaps I should have taken advantage of it when I had the chance, but I haven't even looked at it since…"

"No one's here to see you," I tell him, knowing where the struggle is and knowing that I'm partially lying to him as he points out, "You are."

Deciding that it's not the time to tell him that I won't look, I simply stand beside him before I realize that I can't remember when the last time was that I'd felt the ocean water either, not being one to partake in leisure ever since…

"I think it's been longer for me," I suddenly mutter before wondering if it was the right thing to say, but hoping that the common ground will get him to open up again.

"Hm," he mumbles, still staring at the ocean before he distantly adds, "I guess we both have things we want to hide."

With a silent gesture, I simply nod once before continuing to stare into the same spot as him.

* * *

For some reason, I don't feel like I'm the only one that drifts off from time to time. Although his distance seems to keep me focused, maybe even concerned as I take the risk by moving closer and putting my arm around his shoulder. And I'm almost thankful when he responds by moving his arm around my waist. Though we both still stand there, side-by-side, silently and staring into the night like it's hypnotic.

"Do you want to go in?" I finally ask before he pulls back, stiffening a little again and making me regret that I asked.

"No," he answers. Then he shakes his head as if he needs to make it more concrete while he comes up with an excuse that he feels will do him justice, "I don't have any swimwear."

"Neither do I," I answer, even though I highly suspect that he has something in the beach-house. But I'm not going to push him, I tell myself, before I realize I'm only lying when I tell him to, "Take your shoes off."

"What?" he asks, sounding a bit surprised as he tries to pull away and I hold onto him, not willing to let him get away that easily, "What for?"

"You'll get sand in your shoes if you don't," I tell him.

"No, I won't," he answers. Then he motions with the lantern in his hand toward a small stone bench near the other end of the branching pathway, "Because I'm not going on the—What are you doing?"

"Ignoring you," I tell him as he starts to squirm and hits me in the shoulder when I lift him from the ground, and I wind up cradling him.

"Put me down!"

"No."

"This isn't funny, Vince."

"Vincent," I remind him before I comment that, "I didn't say it was."

Then I pull the lantern from his grip and put it on a nearby ledge, despite the awkwardness involved by carrying him. After that, I carry him toward the water while he continues to demand that I put him down, and he simultaneously tries to break himself free.

However, when I finally do as he says, he makes it clear that it wasn't exactly where he meant as a broad splash soaks us both before he winds up soaking me even more by retaliating with a rough splash. Then he pushes me backward and causes me to lose my footing, and he stares down at me with a look that turns from anger to amusement.

"I take it you find it funny now?" I retort while brushing my soaked hair from my eyes before I pull him unsuspectingly toward me and I ignore the surprised yelp from him that comes out more playful than surprised.

Though I admit, I'm probably just as surprised at the fact that he's not as upset as I thought he would be.

It appears that he's giving in as he moves closer and undoes my cloak to throw it toward the beach, explaining that it will weigh me down—not that it would matter. But I shrug off the ill comment and take note of the strange feeling that builds in my chest, like something I'd lost and forgotten had been found again, and I wind up pushing the wet strands of hair from his face with a soaked glove, almost thankful.

For what though, I don't know, and I watch him as he finally gives in, removing his shoes, socks and blazer, and tosses them onto the same spot as my cloak. Then I follow suit with my armour, gloves, and soaked boots while I take note that he leaves his pants and shirt on, and I decide that I'm not going to say anything as I take a bold enough step to remove my own shirt, somewhat hoping it will encourage him to follow suit.

But it doesn't seem to be the most prominent thought on my mind at the moment, and I pull him farther into the depth while musing over the irony of us both. He said he used to be vain, and I know I never told him my own story. But I used to be the opposite, and here we are, reversing the roles while I silently hope I can pull him out of his shell, never realizing that he's unknowingly pulling me out of mine.

Or maybe he does know, I wonder, before he lifts his soaked arm from the water, white cotton clinging to his arm as heavy drops fall from the fabric and he looks back at the beach-house while fiddling with the wet cuffs.

"I might have to explain this," he says, even though I'm sure he doesn't think he needs to, "Perhaps I'll tell her the truth this time."

"What would that be?"

"That I was nearly drowned by a monster."

Ignoring the brash comment, I remind him that, "You started a fire." Then I move closer and place my hands on his hips before leaning toward him and adding, "We can hang your clothes to dry before you return."

He smiles at me then, and shakes his head before placing the palm of his hand on my chest and lightly pushing me back as he moves forward, deeper into the water and playfully asks, "Why would you assume that I don't have a more modern means of accomplishing the same task?"

"For the same reason that you don't have any power connected," I answer, before he nods and stops pushing me.

"Hm." With a passing glint, he smirks at me, and then he quietly asks, "Aren't you surprised?"

"I'm finding a lot of things surprising about you," I admit, following his suit and moving closer while he nods and sucks in his bottom lip.

"I wonder if you'd find the reason surprising," he muses, almost like he's playing before he splashes the water into my face and swims into the deeper water when I think its okay to place my hands on him. Flirtatiously playing, I think. Or maybe I just hope, and I decide to take it as bait and go after him to catch him, making me think my first assumption was correct when he doesn't struggle away.

"What's the reason?" I ask while he turns so his back is to me, and the house is in his view. Then he snakes his hand behind him, up the back of my neck and twists his palm so it's resting against it.

"Maybe it's strange," he tells me, "considering where I grew up and what I strived to get away from."

After that, he turns and places both his hands behind my neck while I place mine on his hips and chance moving closer, "But we were never left wanting."

Then he tilts his head and flicks his thumb near the base of my hair.

"And I suppose a part of me believes in some of the same things as those of Wutai, despite that I never regretted leaving."

"Things like what?" I ask, before I lean closer and note that there are no electrical connections at all.

"Romantic notions…" he quietly answers before he pushes himself up on his toes and runs his eyes over me like he's looking for something.

I only study him back though, thinking that he's only becoming more alluring. But he moves away before I get the chance to act on anything and he swims through the shallow water toward the beech, telling me, "I need to get these clothes dry."

I only nod, wondering why he leads me on and then runs the moment he has an effect on me, and I catch myself reflecting on how Lucrecia used to do the same thing.

The sudden swing in my mood makes me want to stay where I'm standing like a fool in the waves, exposed and empty at the same time before he turns to look at me and asks, "Aren't you coming?"

"Sure," I mutter, before I lower my head and remind myself that at least he's acknowledging me.

* * *

When we go back inside, he drops the clothes he carried in and takes the lantern with him down the short hall before returning with a line that he tries to put up between two hooks on the opposite walls.

"We set this up for convenience," he tells me as I start to help him, since they're slightly higher than him. Then he lowers his head when I reach over him and hesitantly confesses, "Seph… Put these up."

"I'm sure you let him know it was too high," I say, trying to keep us both light before I finish fastening the line and look down to see that he's turned around and is looking up at me.

"I did," he tells me before he pushes me back and starts hanging our clothes, "but he never listened."

Or he just liked to get him worked up, I think, wondering if it's more accurate as we hang the last of the clothes and he turns to face me again, hesitantly stepping closer.

"We…" he starts, and hesitates for an awkward moment before he motions toward my headscarf and nods when I nod to let him know he can take it off, "We need to get out of these clothes."

With another nod, I step closer and shake my hair when he finishes pulling it off.

"Don't," he warns, as I ignore him and step even closer, finding it easy over the fact that he doesn't look upset over it.

Then he steps away and mentions that there are dry clothes in the room.

"I believe your more Seph's size than mine," he mutters, and attempts to walk away before I grab him by the arm.

"I don't want to wear Sephiroth's clothes," I tell him, mildly regretting the way that it comes out, but all he does is nod.

"Would you prefer mine?" he asks before I slowly shake my head, suddenly wanting to establish my territory to him, and the next thing I know, I'm chancing my boundaries again, pushing them for some unknown reason.

But he doesn't try to push me away as hard as I expect him to, despite where we are when my lips seal against his.

He presses his hands against my chest though, attempting to hold me back before palms smooth over it, feeling, searching, and moving toward my ribs and my back before he pulls back to breathe out, "We shouldn't be doing this."

I ignore him though, taking advantage of his arched neck, breathing in the scent and tasting the flesh while his hands smooth over the muscles of my back and toward my shoulders where his fingers toy with a massaging pressure, telling me that he's not paying much mind to what he just said—falling as weak as I am.

Daring to take it as permission, I start to undo the top buttons of his soaked shirt, where marred skin shows through the contacting folds of cotton, and I wrap my other arm below his waist, pulling him closer and sealing his mouth before he gets the chance to protest. Maybe it's the modesty that attracts me to him, despite how much it contrasts with his righteous nature—the chase—and the game that appeals to a hunter's instinct, mirroring what I don't want to believe about myself.

He makes it all easy to bury though, despite the ghost that haunts him here, and although he touches me in no perverse way as if he's still afraid to give in. But he almost melts into me as the pads of strong fingers trail up my neck and down my spine, exploring and learning, and the mild taste of lingering sugar invites me to go further, making me feel like I can inhale his essence, whether it's what I really want or not, and ignoring the question just the same.

And the thought about why he makes me want this, or how, washes away, along with the thought as to why it's _him_ that I find desirable and tempting—like a fly finds a trap.

"Mm-no," he mutters before his shirt has a chance to fall to the floor and he quickly grabs it before trying to pull away so he can hang it up. I only stand there for a moment, wondering if that's his way of getting away from whatever he's afraid of while he disdainfully explains, "It's not going to dry properly if it's on the floor."

_Of course not,_ I sarcastically think, before the doubt starts again and I wonder why I'm torturing myself with him. It's almost like I'm with Lucrecia again, and I almost start to wonder if he's right about me trying to replace her with him. But he breaks the thought by returning to me after anally fiddling with the shirt to get it in the most beneficial position for drying the fastest, and he seals the air between us with a continuation of a wanting kiss, reviving everything that's dead in me.

The doubt still lingers though, and he senses it before his own set of concerns kick in and he almost pulls away with a sense of defeat. But I find myself pulling him back as if it's his own inner demon that I've been looking for, like I'm feeding from his own devastation as I guide us both to the blankets with a new set of silent questions over my own agenda.

Maybe it's strange that I'm not even asking what his motives are anymore as I start to explore him, and he does the same with me, seeming bashful whenever I take a moment to watch him for signs of a possible mistake I might be making, and reminding me of how opposite and confident he appeared when I first got to know him.

He shrugs inward now, uncomfortable at being looked at and uncomfortable at not being covered while I find a morbid sense of attraction to it, and I run my fingers down his damaged chest, along his ribs, and over his abdomen, tracing the imperfections and not questioning why I'm attracted to them or the fact that I blame myself for them. All the while, he traces over my own skin, unmarked and preserved, and allows me to climb over him to seek out his neck again, tasting and closing my eyes at the sound of a soft moan that was probably unintentional.

Whether it's him or the feeling that's intoxicating is no longer important, and I find my way to fumble with his belt while he nimbly undoes the buckles on my pants as if he'd been practicing.

"Kjata," I moan, barely moving my lips from him and as if the words are only air when he slips his hand through the opening and touches me in a way that breathes life. All the while, I'm still fumbling with his belt, and he responds by saying that our pants need to be hung to dry as if he's only exhaling the words instead of saying them before pushing me up and undoing his own belt since I can't seem to figure out how in the hell he has it fastened.

With an attempt to hold back my frustration with him, I tell him I'll do it, knowing that he probably won't be able to relax if it never gets done. Then after I carelessly toss them over the line in front of the fireplace, I turn to see that he's already managed to cover himself with the blanket.

I only shake my head at him, biting back on what I'd really like to say, despite the fact that he can read my thoughts like a book.

"Humour me," he answers, breathily and almost like I said something while I lean down to kiss him again, ignoring him and gently pulling the blanket from his relaxing grip before running my hand toward the middle of his legs.

He closes his eyes when I touch him, and he mirrors the action onto me while I watch him run his tongue along his bottom lip, features dancing amidst the flickering flames while I remind myself to be gentle with him. All the while, I wonder if there's a way to make things more comfortable for him, or even if there's a need to.

But he doesn't bother to let me know and he raises his legs around my waist to accommodate me better, already knowing what I prefer. Then he lifts his head to kiss my neck and hangs onto me firmly, but careful not to hurt before his breath turns shaky and he lightly bites on his bottom lip, fingers tensing over the muscles of my shoulders, but being mindful of their pressure as he reminds me, "Slow."

"Sorry," I mutter, before easing in more thoughtfully and fighting the urge to take him with force as I kiss him on the temple and wait for him to let me know what I can do next.

* * *

I would almost say that everything is perfect, feeling like we've both taken steps forward, despite the threat that existed earlier. He even surprises me by climaxing without being touched, aided by nothing but friction and fascinating me even more and making me more curious about what he feels.

I'm not going to ask him though, nor am I willing enough to want to find out. Instead, I close my eyes when he asks me to release inside of him, encouraging me to hurry. Then I kiss him on the neck when he turns his head away with an expression that I still don't know how to read as his hand falls to the blankets beneath us and grips in.

"Am I hurting you?" I finally ask, not as scared to find out as I was at first while I ease up a little, willing to stop if he says yes.

But all he says is, "Don't stop."

Knowing that it's not an answer to my question, I try to brush it off by speeding up again, minding what he said and minding what he didn't say. All the while, he continues to ask me to cum inside of him, and the moment that I'm almost there, I see Lucrecia as if from air.

It's involuntary and almost seeming forced, as she falls to her knees and Sephiroth stands behind her, sword readied before it coldly plunges into her back, reminding me of Aerith's fate. But that's not the worst thing that could happen at this point.

It pales in comparison to what I wind up growling into Tseng's ear right at the moment of climax.

"Lucrecia!"

"What?"

Then a cold chuckle follows Tseng's offended question, like the resonance from a dream that's slowly fading, and I keep my eyes shut tight, hoping that I didn't just yell out what I think I yelled out, making everything seem more wrong than it possibly could be.


	19. Another Chance

**Another Chance**

* * *

"Get off of me."

His voice is chillingly calm. But the tense feel of his body tells me that whatever's beneath the surface isn't, and the next thing I know, I'm flying backwards from a fierce kick before the back of his hand strikes me across the face. I don't do anything to defend myself though, because I doubt there's anything I could do without unnecessarily hurting him in the process.

Instead, I lower my head, curse silently, and watch through a black veil as he grabs his clothes and throws them on as quickly as he can while skipping the buttons. Then he starts for the front door.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Save your breath," he tells me, forcing the calm and stoic approach as his features turn to the stone of the first day I met him before he brushes his damp hair behind his shoulder and moves for the door again.

"Let me explain."

"No," he calmly says when he opens it and hesitates. Then he turns around, fiddles with the blazer draped over his forearm, and starts to do up the buttons on his shirt with his free hand, hiding the scars before he steps outside, "And this time, Vincent, when I say stay the _hell_ away from me, I mean it."

And to prove his point, he pulls out his gun the moment I attempt to lunge at him in an attempt to keep him here long enough for me to justify what happened, and he pulls the trigger. Then, ignoring the pained growl that I can't hold back as my hands rush to the infliction, he notions the gun to the wound hat he managed to get dead-on into the same spot that he stabbed me the last time and coldly says while bowing in dismissal at me, "Dig that one out yourself, Vincent."

Then he disappears with a windless slam to the door and footsteps that quickly fade as he disappears into the night and leaves me there, wounded and naked over something that never should have happened in the first place.

However, the part of me that I'm beginning to think is sick—like he keeps pointing out—reminds me that the shot he fired wasn't fatal. It tells me that he's left an opening for me to try to work it out as if a part of him wants me to explain.

Whether it's hopeful thinking or simply unhealthy obsession though, I haven't figured out, and I hop over to my clothes before dumping the water that he brought with him into the flames in the fireplace, and I stare at his map while wincing as I look for a potion in the pocket of my pants. It almost looks like its glowing in the north, and I catch myself snorting at how the light outside must be playing tricks until I realize that there isn't any light outside.

There were clouds coming in before we arrived at this cursed place, and I limp forward to grab the rest of the clothes and get closer to the map, noting that it's still glowing, although where I'm standing would block wherever the source of light would be coming from.

Then I take another step forward and tilt my head, feeling uneasy over the fact that it's the northern part of the map, unmarked, and not searched by him. Though I admit that I'm relieved to see there's no relation to the Northern Crater, although it seems close and I take note of the location while nodding once to myself as I put my pants on and head for the door while throwing the rest of my clothes on in a careless rush.

But just as I'm about to run after him with a reason to stop him from storming away, I remember the visions of the snow and I suddenly hesitate, faltering over the knob of the door and second guessing whether I really want to tell him something that could be nothing, or something that could mean the difference between whether he lives or dies.

Either way though, I don't get to make a decision because the moment I decide to leave, regardless of whether I'll go after him or not, something uncommon happens and I pass out.

* * *

"Ngumph!"

The light turns hazy and bluish before a white halo washes over everything like a wave as Tseng falls to his knees and immediately covers his stomach with his hand. He shakes like he's in shock and he tries to steady himself with his other hand as he fumbles, blood pouring between the fingers over his stomach.

"You've lost your mind," he whispers, choking as he turns his head away when the sight of the blade with his own blood on it is shown to him. Then the sound of cruel and slow chuckling echoes in a dizzying vibration as if it's resounding in an open cavern before black leather boots and the bottom of a long black leather coat comes within Sight.

"I believe a thanks is in order, Tonberry," Sephiroth says, hollow sounding before he kneels in front of the Turk and tauntingly wipes his blade on the front of his suit with slow and deliberate movements. Then he grips his hand into the back of Tseng's hair with a painful hold, pulls him forward with a sharp tug, and leans closer so their cheeks are touching and his mouth is resting against the Wutian's ear, and he quietly purrs something at him that I can't make out.

* * *

It doesn't end there though, and Sephiroth comes back to drag Tseng out of the temple by his wrist. With a cruel grip, he continues to drag him into the tropical forest where no one will find him, ignoring the grimacing complaints of his lover and almost seeming to take a sick sort of pleasure in it. Then he lays him down on the ground and spreads his hair out across the uncomfortable rocks he laid him on, and with a sickly admiration, he watches his lover gag while choking for breath.

"There's something uncommon about you," he tells him while gently wiping a trail of blood from the corner of Tseng's mouth as Tseng stares blankly ahead, suffocating and blind, and seeing nothing but shadows. Then Sephiroth runs his gloved finger over the tattoo above the centre of Tseng's brows and adds in distaste, "Worshipper of the Ancients."

He stands then, takes a look around as the slight breeze catches the silver strands of his hair, and he let's out an empty sigh. Then he bows his head, turns his back to Tseng, and pulls out his sword to plunge it into his lover's abdomen again.

No emotion is in his eyes as he violently twists the blade with an abrupt motion, ensuring that the man he once loved is no longer, and he shows no sense of remorse as he walks back to the collapsing temple, never looking back and never showing regret as he leaves the remainder of the other man with nothing but the insects and the suffocating humidity to keep him company.

Only, it appears that Tseng's remains aren't alone. A figure appears from the shadows, quiet and ghostly as if it was watching, maybe even waiting. It's almost glowing from the strong light behind it, appearing angelic as a white haze surrounds it, making its true form and intentions indiscernible.

* * *

I almost thank the god's when I open my eyes and realize that the snow hasn't come. But I'm left wondering how long I was out for as I shield my eyes from the uncomfortable light shining through the stained and broken windows, blinding me as it glares through the paths it follows. There's no way to gauge time here, no clocks, and I sit up to look around, wondering if everything was just a dream—not just the visions.

The pain in my leg tells me different though. It healed too fast and the bullet remains under the surface, causing my body to fiercely complain about its presence. Then I look around, regretting everything and wondering what he has regarding something sharp. All the while, the map keeps my attention, although there's nothing strange about it in the blinding daylight.

I almost convince myself that the only reason I thought it was glowing is because the area seems more faded than the rest of the map, as if Tseng had been compulsively running his fingers over the same spot, probably wondering if there's something there.

I shake my head at the thought though, reminding myself that I could have been out for days if not hours, and I limp over to the kitchen, constantly fighting with my hair as it continues to block my vision and I search for something sharp enough to cut the bullet out, although I'm not looking forward to the task.

* * *

By the time I find everything and make my way back to the hotel, I discover that Tseng and Elena have already left. Then I follow the trail, along with taking note that I've been out for over a day when I catch the date of a paper a young man is reading on the ship to Junon, and I start to wonder if whatever happened to me is the same thing that happened to Tseng outside of Gongaga.

I doubt I'll find any answers though, if ever, and I doubt I'll ever find out why it's happening even though I'm starting to wonder if it has something to do with Sephiroth's restless spirit. But it's a selfish thought if not bordering on madness, and I try to brush it away as I approach the farm, far more humble than I was the last time I came after him. Then I find an obscure spot in the forested hills nearby, watching and wondering why I can't leave him alone like he wants me to.

But I keep my distance and suffer the growing heat as the summer starts to become stifling. Whether it will make up for anything or not, I don't know, and a day turns into two before it turns into three, and the heat turns into an overwhelming wave, and he turns back into the man that I met back in Kalm, nothing but an impenetrable shield over the secretive depth that hides underneath.

* * *

Only now, I understand the subtleties better. His shifts in mood are almost like an open book as I begin to take note of how out of place he feels, wondering if it's something that was brought on by the circumstances he's suffered or if he's always been that way.

He keeps his conversations short and to the point, never inviting anyone to step inside, and he continues to prefer his own company, or more accurately, no company. It makes me wonder if it's because he doesn't feel like he fits in.

To top it off, he seems agitated over Reno and Rude constantly being sent out to look into their evolving problem with the ex-Turks and not him and one of the others. It only seems to add to the feeling of uselessness and frustration that stirs beneath the surface.

But nobody around him appears to pay it much mind, and maybe it's because he hides it better than either of us realizes. They leave him be and take his sharp and uncalled for comments with a grain of salt.

However, they seem to know something is wrong, and the whispers lead to speculations that range from when Sephiroth was alive and how the two of them were friends, to when the remnants tortured him and Elena, and surprisingly, to the death of Aerith, among several other scraps of speculation that help them fill in the gaps of Tseng's private life that he never speaks of, and why he's more closed off than he was before some incident involving a man named Dr. Hollander.

Apparently, they all agree that he started to grow more distant when Dr. Hollander turned on the company and took someone named Genesis with him. He was Sephiroth's best friend, many of them say, and often times, they don't notice that Tseng is sitting quietly, unseen and within earshot when they speak about him, and the more I hear, the more of myself I see, and the more I want to be with him.

But now is not the time, if there is such a thing as a good time, seeing as he's on his way to Rufus' office, looking frustrated again, and I can only assume that it has something to do with Reno's stories about his and Rude's continuing investigation. He was just listening to them a few minutes ago, and given the dire look that subtly grew as the story went on while Tseng darkly watched and listened, I'm assuming that whatever's bothering him has something to do with the story.

"Ah… Tseng," Rufus stammers, mildly surprised as he opens his door to nearly walk into his Turk, not expecting him to be standing there and ready to knock, "What brings you here?"

"A minor concern," Tseng tells him before he motions his hand to Rufus' seat, encouraging the younger man to nod and return to his desk.

"May I ask what this concern is?"

"By all means," Tseng tells him before he sits himself down in the chair opposite to Rufus and sits there like he literally intends for Rufus to ask, like its some form of discipline that Rufus immediately picks up on and cocks his brow at.

"Very well…" Rufus says, deciding to play along while quickly swivelling his chair and staring out his window at the redheaded Turk before he shakes his head and returns his attention to Tseng, seemingly wondering if Reno has something to do with Tseng's dismal mood, "What is your concern, Tseng?"

"I'm concerned about why you refuse to send me after Koerin."

With an irritated sigh, Rufus brushes his bang from his eyes, slightly damp from the heat and leans forward. But before he has a chance to reply, Tseng cuts him off with an afterthought and purposefully interrupts.

"In fact, the only time you send me out is when it involves a petty crook that Elena could handle without any aid."

"That's not entirely true," Rufus tells him, seeming tense all the sudden as he stands and straightens his coat. Then he walks over to a cabinet against the rear wall and pulls two glasses out before putting some ice in them and grumbling about not having air conditioning.

"Of course," Tseng answers with a slight bow to his head and a cool collective as he sits, relaxed, and folds his hands over his abdomen, "But considering the last time you sent me out with any real risk was when you wanted Jenova's—"

"Water?" Rufus suddenly asks, appearing to want to stop Tseng from talking while Tseng catches on with a mild irritation and stares at the back of Rufus' head while quizzically cocking his own to the side.

"Water?" he dryly repeats, and quirks his brow in question.

"Yes…" Rufus answers, still keeping his back to the Turk and obscurely tapping his fingers on the counter, "It's hot in here, I'm thirsty, and I thought I would offer you a drink." Then he turns around, cocks his brow and holds the glasses in clear view, "However, if you would prefer, I have some iced tea I can offer you."

"Water will be fine," Tseng answers with an irritated shake to his head as Rufus looks him over in a contemplating study and shakes his own head.

"I have no idea how you can't be bothered by this heat."

"I was raised in Wutai," Tseng answers before letting out a stressing sigh like he knows the topic he started isn't going to go anywhere.

"Yes. But Wutian's don't wear heavy suits," Rufus answers before looking out his window again and running his eyes over the open shirt on the redhead, the damp bangs on Elena, and the beads of sweat running down the bald head of his largest Turk. Then he turns his attention back over to the cool Wutian that shows no sign of even being warm, and shakes his head.

"Perhaps you should order uniforms that breathe better then," Tseng casually responds and accepts the glass that Rufus hands to him.

"Perhaps," Rufus muses as he stands in front of Tseng and stares at the other Turks through his window again, seeming uncomfortable from more than just the heat.

During that time, Tseng stares at Rufus with a slightly disturbing shadow in his eyes as if he's less than impressed with the direction the conversation has taken, causing him to silently stew over the matter as he takes a sip and uncomfortably straightens up in his chair.

* * *

After Tseng quickly finishes his water and leaves with an unimpressed air, he walks over to the stables and casually grabs a handful of gysahl greens to feed to the chocobos while strolling through the facility. It's almost like he doesn't want to be alone, although he doesn't appear to want any company either.

It's a dead look that he carries as he slips his hand into his pocket and toys with his locket before stepping out of the barn and staring at the dusky skies near the woods I'm concealed in. His features are softened from the pastel shades of the clear sky above, emphasizing the forlorn look in his eyes, deep and brooding, and abysmal while he appears lost for a moment.

But his attention is drawn to the sudden disturbance of the other Turks as they walk passed the front of the barn, not seeing him and appearing to be on their way to unwind. He looks down then, contemplating something as he toys with the locket again. Then he walks toward the shooting range with the same relaxed and confident walk, which makes it seem like he's walking on air and giving no hint to the weight of the silent burdens that he carries.

All the while, my gauntlet scratches into the tree I'm crouching near and my gloved hand reaches for Lucrecia's chain while I silently chastise myself, wondering why, "Sorry," is the best I can come up with.

* * *

Lying isn't an option though, and days turn into weeks before I finally build enough courage to leave the woods to seek him out, hoping that the time has lessened the weight and realizing that it's only making it harder. He's returned to the man he was when I first started watching him, empty, lifeless, and dead. The only spark he has is for his job, and he does it all with a chilling perfection that makes nearly everyone around him seem incompetent, and the only charm he carries is his wit, biting, sarcastic, and bordering on cruel.

"I thought I told you to stay away, Vincent," Tseng calmly says, holding his tea between his hands while he sits on the steps to his back door and stares into the distance with an observant eye. He makes no effort to acknowledge me beyond what he says, and he takes a sip from his cup while I focus on the tattoo in the middle of his forehead, remembering what Sephiroth called him in my dream.

"Vince," I humbly mutter, not intending it as an argument this time before I almost step out of the concealing bushes by his door and decide not to.

"Hmph."

With a bitter-sounding snort, he taps on his cup with the nail of his forefinger. Then he sneers while continuing to stare into the night inspired darkness and narrows his slanted eyes.

"I'll call you whatever I feel like calling you."

After that, he gets up and brushes a thin film of dust from his pants before he turns around, reaches for his door, and releases a small crumb of whatever's built up inside.

"Just like you do."

And that's where I decide to tell him my conclusions, unable to take the burdening lack of discipline that he labels me as having, and I wind up telling him about the dreams, the concerns I have over them, and the fact that I believe him and Sephiroth are still tied more closely together than he thinks, and surprisingly, he doesn't say a word the entire time.

He only stares at me with an unreadable expression, dully blinking as if he's bored. Then he unexpectedly grabs me by the collar of my shirt, roughly, and literally pushes me inside, causing me to lose my footing and stumble backwards before he closes the door and remains outside. At first, I wonder what the hell is going through his head and I'm about to try to find out, but I meet a resistance when I try to turn the knob as if he's holding it.

He knows I can easily overpower him though, and I'm about to until I hear Elena's small voice greet him as her light steps crunch on the gravel while she walks by.

"Good evening, Sir."

"Elena," he acknowledges, and then he waits until she's completely out of sight before letting go of the knob, quickly opening it, and pushing me back as he walks in.

"You've had all this time, and the best you can do is come up with some deranged story about Sephiroth?" he asks before shaking his head in distaste and finishing the remainder of his tea off.

Then he licks his lips and walks into the kitchen to rinse his cup out while telling me not to follow him because his curtains are open.

After that, he falls back to his original accusation while stating that, "That's not even an excuse," as he walks back into the room and shakes his head again. "For Leviathan's sake, Vince. Do you have any idea how insulting you are?"

"No more insulting than you," I fire back, angered at his unwavering ignorance and angered at myself for firing back the way that I did.

Then with a cool collective, he slicks his hair back and quirks his brow while obstinately stating, "I've never insulted you."

He sounds sincere about it too, like he really believes it, and he starts to walk to the back door after grabbing my arm and clarifying what he means by insulting, "I happen to know what your name is."

"Kjata," I grumble while prying his fingers from my arm and grabbing him to stop him from escorting me out. Then I push him against the wall and hold him there while growling, "I'm not confusing you with her."

"Of course not," he coldly says, low and almost chilling as those charcoal eyes stare at me, dead-on and fearless, and the sarcasm drips from his tongue like venom, "Because _Sephiroth_ is forcing you to do and say all the mindless and disturbing things that you do and say."

_Disturbing?_ I think, knowing that he doesn't believe me and almost agreeing with him if that's the case while I suddenly start to realize how sick I must be sounding to him. But I can't think of anything else to say to rectify the misunderstanding that only seems to be growing worse by the second.

Little thought goes into much else though, because before I get the chance to waste anymore time thinking about what the hell I can say to save myself, he knees me in the groin, hard, causing me to immediately let go of him as I double over with a growl and cup myself.

"Sonuva… bitch…" I mindlessly mutter, unable to recall the last time I said something like that before I literally see stars when he backhands me across the head and hisses like a defensive snake.

"You will _never_ refer to my _mother_ in that manner."

_Great…_

Of all the things I could have said, I had to top it off by giving him the opening to accuse me of insulting his mother.

Although I know I should probably give up at this point, and despite the fact that he's making it more than clear that he wants me to leave as he starts to drag me across the floor with the obvious intention of throwing me out like garbage, I wind up struggling with him while trying to attempt not to hurt him. But what's more concerning is the fact that he doesn't appear to care if there's anyone out there to see him do it, and I gain my second wind and lunge at him, toppling us both to the floor in a heaping mess.

"Get off of me, Vincent."

"Vince," I growl at him before shaking him and stopping when he winces, suddenly realizing that I'm not liking it when he calls me Vincent. It sounds cold. Then I mutter, "Sorry," and I practically drop my weight onto him like I'm desperate. "Give me another chance."

The last part comes out dead while I mindlessly hold him down with my hand covering his mouth, softly kissing the side of his face like I can use it to beg him as I whisper, "Please," into his ear.

Maybe it's because I've lost so much already that I've become desperate to hang onto whatever I think I might have, or might have had, despite the damage that I'm causing in my reluctance to let go. But I can't seem to stop myself from hurting us both in the process.

Maybe he was right about Hojo and Lucrecia damaging me more than just physically, and I slowly remove my hand from his mouth, giving him the chance to defend himself and dreading it as I hang onto him with a less threatening hold, although I'm still not willing to let him go.

He doesn't do anything though, and I'm almost thankful that he doesn't say anything either, regardless of the fact that I should probably take his stillness and physical indifference as a concern. But the only thing I can focus on at this moment is the fact that I don't want to let him go, as I bury my face in his neck and breathe in the calming effect of his cologne and his hair.

It seems like a long time, enshrouded in silence, and with the anxious feeling of not knowing what will happen next, only hoping, before he lets out a weighted breath as if he'd been holding it, and he moves his arm to rest his palm on my shoulder.

Then he lightly rests his cheek to the top of my head and calmly asks, "Are you done?"

_Yes,_ I think. But I resist the urge to say it while assuming that he'll take it as his cue to escort me out of his life again. But he takes my silence as an affirmative and nods before carefully pushing me up and grimacing. Then he stops when he's free of my weight and my face is just above his, and he rests his palm against my cheek while rubbing his callused thumb over the spot where he hit me in a few thoughtful strokes.

"I must be a fool," he admits.

Though, to what, I don't know.

Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a potion to hand to me while letting out a regretful sigh and sliding out from under me. But he's not going to let sleeping dogs lie, and he stiffens up as he stands while keeping his back to me.

"And for the record, Vince…" he starts. Then he pauses as if he's expecting me to correct him again and nods when there's nothing but silence, "You're the only one I was thinking of."

After that, he looks down and adjusts his cuffs, making me feel lower than I already did before walking to the phone by his bedside and smoothing his hair back as he does so. Confused for a moment, I only watch him pick up the receiver, let out another regretful sigh, and start dialling.

"What are you doing?" I ask, but low enough to keep from stepping on whatever ground he's giving me while I open the bottle and pause in confusion over his response.

"You're not staying here," is his answer, and he says it like it's not open for debate. Then the person on the other line answers, and he sits on his bed before saying, "Yes… I'd like to book a room… Your best… With a kitchen, please."

"Yes, Sir… How long will you be staying?"

"It's not for me…" he answers before placidly looking at the floor and adjusting himself more comfortably, hiding the inner complaints of his discomfort as he does it and answers, "Indefinitely."


	20. The Muchraking Foulander Knows A Secret

**The Muckraking Foulander Knows a Secret**

* * *

**End of major edit: You will notice that the rest of this story has no titles. It is undergoing a major edit to make it more readable and to add titles to make it easier to navigate. Please be patient. I am working as quickly and efficiently as I can.**

**I am working on 10 chapters at a time and will post them in the same manner.**

* * *

It's been months since Tseng went out of his way to reserve an elaborately decorated room for me, and since that day, he comes and goes.

He claims he did it because it was the only thing he could come up with that might encourage me to stay out of his house, and often times, I don't see him for days if not weeks, and I find myself searching for him only to find that he's on a job somewhere. Though he never tells me when he goes, and although part of me suspects it's because he feels he doesn't need to, another part knows it's not personal.

He's still hot and cold with me, pushing me away whenever he becomes uncertain. Though he's even distant when he isn't pushing me away, and with each fallback that we have, he becomes less willing to open up. He's defensive and outright protective of what he keeps inside, and when he feels humiliated, he can turn outright vicious, almost like he feels violated and he needs to protect himself in the only way that he knows how.

I believe I've discovered the key to his warmer side though, and despite that it doesn't unlock everything, it appears to bring progress. He likes to be pampered, even though he won't admit to it, and massages grind his stone exterior down to sand, often melting him regardless of how sharp he can be at times. It's one of the few things that will often get him to open up enough to surprise me.

He's short with his words when he opens up, most of the time, and he still refuses to tell me anything about his father even though I don't know why I press. It's almost like he fears he'll tell me too much and wind up regretting it, which he often does, and he still doesn't trust me for reasons I can't blame him for. Often times, during his visits, we only wind up holding each other, rarely progressing to anything beyond that. But I don't mind since it's his company I find I've become addicted to, and maybe even the mystery to what makes him tick.

However, I have to admit that sometimes I wind up feeling stormier than I did before he visits, especially when he plays his strange games with me. Though sometimes I wonder if I'm simply mistaking his actions for something I want them to be, or maybe I'm just wanting more than he's willing to offer. Either way, he leaves me confused at times, particularly when he appears to flirt before shutting the door.

He's not the type to play around though, and maybe I'm using the wrong words to describe the temptation that he is, or the addiction or whatever he's become to me. He's become so dangerously taking that I find myself becoming more dangerously protective of him, if not threatening over harmless situations and angering him by making him think that I'm telling him he's incapable of taking care of himself, or the fact that he thinks I don't trust him, particularly when he's around Reno.

But I have my reasons, regardless of whether Tseng's conclusions are correct or not, and regardless of whether he's right about me behaving the way that I do because of what happened with Lucrecia. Unfortunately though, I can't help it, and even if Reno behaves the way that he does around him simply to lure me out of the woodwork, it still doesn't change the fact that I want to wring his scrawny little neck.

Nor does it change the fact that it worked either, which is the reason I haven't seen Tseng for a few weeks now, and it's also the reason that I'm staying in a room above Tifa's bar instead of the room that he keeps for me.

Though I don't think my appearance was what Reno was after at the time, nor does he even remember, considering that I attacked him from behind. And to make matters worse, it wasn't really me that assaulted him, which was partly the reason I honoured Tseng's request to leave, and I walked away with my head down, regretting that I couldn't turn back the clock.

However, I have no idea why Chaos attacked Reno. All the redhead did was jump on Tseng in a protective manoeuvre when he thought he heard gunfire, although it turned out to be one of their old vehicles backfiring. Nor do I even know why Chaos listened to Tseng, or why it felt like it was shrinking back like it felt it did something wrong when Tseng yelled at it to get off the unconscious Turk, and I find myself replaying it over and over as many times as I can as if I can use it as some type of punishment for all the things I can't control.

_It,_ I think, before I wonder what else there is to call the beast that lives inside of me, unable to see it as anything other than a curse just like I might be to Tseng.

None of it should matter though, even though it feels like it does, and it's not just Reno or Tseng's closed nature that add to the reasons I chose to honour his request.

It's the dreams.

The dreams never stop.

Instead, they only become more confusing as if Tseng is woven into a delicate web that branches into directions I never thought possible. From exotic to sensual, and from terror to nightmares, he's seen, witnessed, and even participated in things I never would have imagined, and he behaves as if none of its ever happened. He even denies it when he's confronted about it and laughs at me like I've lost my mind, only to accuse me of digging up dirt so I can persuade myself to feel like I'm not dishonouring Lucrecia by being with him.

"Go ahead and leave then," he'll say, before he'll dig the needle in as far as he can and add, "Find yourself another replacement."

He says that when he has no other ammo to use. He'll fall back on Lucrecia, making me wonder which one of us is more obsessed with her at times, despite our different reasons. He sees her as the bane of all evils, more vile than Hojo, and he never forgets that I've called her name while having intercourse with him, often leading to an unnecessary dispute that ends with either one of us leaving.

But he always takes me back, although he never succeeds at getting me to do the things that he wants me to do, and although I never let him do the things that he wants to do, almost like he needs to suffer as much as I do by depriving himself and feeding into the guilt that I can't bring myself to let go of.

Though it's not so much the struggle that we have with each other, or the inner conflicts that accompany them that keeps bringing us back together. I'm not really sure what the real reason is except that he makes me feel more alive than I've felt in a long time, despite the dreams that he still doesn't believe in…

And I shake my head at the fact that I've fallen back to the dreams again, and the fact that the last one is still fresh in my mind, and that it ended with the snow like it always does. And it always confuses me over what symbolism it carries, if any at all, or what type of premonition it could possibly be warning me of.

He doesn't believe me when I try to tell him about it though, and he always pares it down to the fact that he thinks I'm suffering from some form of psychosis. He thinks it's brought on from all the losses I've suffered in the past, and a part of me wonders if he's right. I wonder if he's right about me fearing a repeat of the things I could never change simply because the pattern fits with everything else in my life.

_Best not to dwell over it,_ I tell myself, and I frown over the fact that I'm still lying in the old bed that Tifa offered to me, and the fact that I've been sleeping for more than two days straight. But I've done it ever since Nibelheim, off and on, hoping that I can will time to go by faster by not acknowledging it, and hoping for an end that never comes.

And now I'm doing it again. Only this time, it's to ease the fact that I can't be near him, and I wonder how or why it even happened.

Maybe it was the fact that he seems more like a companion than anything else, and I feel connected to him on more than one level. And maybe it's the fact that most of the time he only wants to be held that makes me feel like there's more to him than the cold-blooded Turk that I originally thought he was.

But none of that matters now, and although I can't seem to pull myself any farther away from him than Edge, maybe we're both better off. I'm not a big enough fool to believe that we belong to each other, or to even believe that either of us ever let go of what we had in the past, and he still keeps the last gift that Sephiroth ever gave to him. He holds onto it like a shrine and I still toy with the chain around my neck like I am now.

_Give your head a shake,_ I tell myself, wondering why I always choose to walk this path and I put the chain back under my shirt while leaving my hand over it, despite how much I want to forget about it, and I tell myself that I should go back to Kalm.

But I can't, not when I know what kind of stubborn streak Tseng suffers from and the fact that he won't tell anyone that there's anything wrong with him. It's what keeps me here, believing that he needs someone to protect him, and frozen in the limbo of promising to stay away and not being able to leave, even though I know he'd be upset if he knew how much I've been keeping track of him.

And if it wasn't for the sudden high energy knocking on my door that causes me to get up, I'm sure I'd be able to drop myself further down this hole that I keep digging myself into.

At first, I think its Tifa, worrying about me like she always does and checking up on me to make sure that I'm all right. But I suppose her concern is justified since I haven't come out of the room for several days now. But when the constant and rapid knocking continues, speeding up and becoming more impatient, I come to the conclusion that it's not her and I lower my head, thinking that I'm not ready for this right now.

And when the clear and slightly higher than normal pitch calls out, "Vincent? Vin? Are you there?"

I think, 'Kjata,' and I step back as if I can physically dissolve in hopes of avoiding what's on the other side.

"Hey. If you're sleeping, you should wake up! You can't sleep your life away, Sleepyhead."

There's a short pause after she speaks, and I almost hope my wishes have been answered, hoping that she's left even though I know better than to believe in something like that while her second wind becomes more energetic.

"C'mon, Vinnie… Open the door. There's so many things to do… So much to see, and with me standing on the other side, how can you not want to open the door?"

_Right,_ I think, and I nod before I gather the courage to deal with the overzealous ball of energy on the other side. It's like taking off a bandage, I remind myself. Do it quickly and the worst part will be over. And with that thought in mind, I take quick steps to the door and grab the handle, cringe, shake it off, and open it to be assaulted by arms, open wide, that suddenly wrap around my neck as a small and light body jumps into my arms.

"Yuffi," I grunt as I move quickly to grab her and make sure she doesn't fall or hurt herself in her automatic reaction. Then I stiffen slightly when her mouth hits my cheek to give a welcoming peck, "I thought you were in Rocket Town."

"I was," she tells me before she leaps back to the floor with an unwavering energy and studies my surroundings with large brown eyes, full of life and a mind that never stops ticking.

"But Tifa told me you were staying here, and I said, 'What? What's he doing in Edge?' And she said, 'I don't know. He seems a little down.' And I said, 'That's our Vinnie!' Then I decided, 'Well, if our good friend Vin is down, then who better to cheer him up?'"

The whole time she's talking, she's swinging her arms, talking with her hands, pacing, and punching the air for emphasis. And I find myself musing over why it's no wonder she's as tiny as she is. There's no possible way for her to gain any weight with the way that she bounces all over the place.

"Me!" she exclaims, with bright eyes before she abruptly turns and nearly hits me by the way she swings her arms. Then she clasps her hands under her chin and twists her body like a bonsai tree while staring at me with stars in her eyes.

"Me…" I repeat, forgetting what the hell she's talking about until she takes the liberty to remind me again.

"I'm here to cheer you up!"

_Kjata,_ I think.

"I don't need anyone to cheer me up," I flatly tell her before I grab my holster from the bedside and put it on, mostly out of habit. Then I shake my head when I suddenly realize how much I sound like Tseng when he tells me he doesn't need anyone helping him. And I think, 'Kjata,' again.

"Now see?" she tells me, as she steps up behind me and wraps her arms around my waist, peering up at me with doe-like eyes from behind my shoulder. She reminds me of a child in size, even in mentality, and I almost smile about the innocence of it, "It's things like this that tell me you do!"

Then she nearly crawls her body over my arm as if she's afraid I'll run if she lets go, and she wraps her arms around it while leaning back to tug me along with her.

"C'mon, Vinnie. The nights still young."

"Vincent."

"What difference does it make?" she asks, reminding me of Tseng's careless disregard when she rolls her eyes before she tugs on me again, "Besides, how can you say 'no' to joining me while I dine on fine foods and fine drinks and tell you about my latest adventures?"

"Very easily," I tell her while she continues to tug on my arm and I let her make some headway without making it seem like I'm giving in. I could use the distraction, I think, and I decide that it's probably the best thing for me right now.

But when we get to the bottom of the stairs and enter Tifa's tavern, I begin to think that it wasn't such a good idea after all.

* * *

The place is unusually packed, and just as we make it to the entrance near the back, the door to the front swings open, revealing in appearance, a very loud redhead, an eager blonde, an intimidating bald man, and a mysteriously exotic looking Wutian.

I almost feel a lump rise to my throat as they walk in as if they're a single entity, despite their unique and trademark movements that make them all seem as separate as they are whole.

Turks…

"Aw. What're they doing here?" she asks, sounding bummed out, as she would put it. But it's not enough to ruin her evening as she shrugs it off and yanks on me when I inadvertently take a step back, suddenly wanting to go back upstairs before I'm noticed.

But no explanation comes to mind to justify my sudden need to disappear as Yuffi does the same thing Elena does, and looks for a table while Rude looks straight at Tifa and walks toward the bar as if he's already made up his mind about what he's going to order. Then there's Reno, who's managed to notice me from the moment he walked in, and he just stares at me only moments before Tseng sees me staring in their direction with my heavy bangs covering my eyes, making it difficult to see where my attention is.

Only Tseng doesn't focus like Reno does. Instead, Tseng's dark eyes immediately snap to the girl clinging to my arm like she's my date for the evening. Then his lips slightly purse. Though it's hardly noticeable and he instantly turns his attention to an empty table near where they entered.

"What about that one?" he asks Elena, who didn't seem to notice it as she continues to scout the room for a table with enough seats.

"Sir?" she asks, before she stares at the window and the door in confusion, "I thought you didn't like being that close to the door."

"I'll make an exception," he tells her before he quickly walks to it and sits down with his back to the tavern, like he couldn't wait to get me out of his sight and causing Elena to shrug in confusion and follow suit.

Meanwhile, Reno takes a moment more to stare at me with a strange smirk on his face before his eyes slyly fall to the young Wutian hanging onto my arm like I belong to her.

"Ooh. I hate them," Yuffi mutters as she stretches her thin neck and looks for a table as far away from them as she can, "hate them, hate them, hate them…" Then she yells across the tavern to draw their attention to us and makes me want to shrink back even further, "Shinra scum!"

"Just find a table," I mumble into my mantle, now that I've shrunk back about as far as I can. Not that it should matter though. They just ignore her anyway. They're probably used to being heckled everywhere they go and everyone else seems to be used to it as well. Even those that tiredly look either at the Turks or at us, or both. They seem almost bored of the vexations while the most intimidating one of them stands at the bar like he heard nothing and orders three pints of beer and a glass of water.

"Water?" Yuffi suddenly repeats, obviously overhearing him, and she turns to look at the intimidating Turk with her mouth screwed in disbelief, "Are you guys that cheap?"

Then she steps forward while Rude professionally ignores her and starts walking back to their table. Unfortunately though, it only seems to be ammunition for her and she calls after him while being ignored again.

"You have to buy three and water them down so the four of you can drink?"

"Yuffi," I lowly growl, and I pull her back with a gentle tug, almost making it look like I'm hanging onto her before I notice that Tseng can see me in the reflection of the window he chose to sit in front of. However, if I didn't know any better, I'd go so far as to say that he looks jealous, and I suddenly wonder if I should just let her start the riot she seems to want to start simply so I can prove that she's not his replacement. Not that it should matter though, since he's the one that asked me to leave.

"I'm in no mood to protect you from getting killed tonight."

"Are you kidding?" she asks as she spins around to face me. "Are you seriously serious? Do you actually think I can't handle these clowns?"

And before I know it, Tseng is suddenly standing at the bar with his water and coolly commenting that, "Perhaps you should take the boy outside. Cool him off." Then he turns to Tifa and holds up his glass. "This glass is dirty. I'd like to request a new one."

"BOY?" Yuffi yells, obviously offended while she nearly slips away and I have to grab her more tightly to hold her back. In the meantime, the rest of the tavern grows quiet and Tifa cautiously nods before taking his glass and giving him a new one.

"Sorry about that," Tifa apologetically tells him, and out of courtesy, he bows his head and tells her, "No worries," before placing a fair amount of gil on the counter for the trouble. And not once, does he even attempt to look at me. Nor does he even appear that he wants to. But he's not going to ignore the young Wutian by my side and he walks up to us before looking down at her and smirking.

"Apologies," Tseng politely says, bowing to her and making me wonder what's possessed him to act so civilized all the sudden.

Of course, that's before he opens his mouth to agitate matters more.

"I almost forgot. It was years ago that I last saw you."

Then he smirks and nonchalantly takes a sip of his water, and adds after he's done, "With such a youthful appearance, I find it hard to believe that you've grown into the young man that you are today. I should have been more considerate about calling you a boy."

"Ooh! You… you… _sexist… _PIG!"

Apparently I'm not the only one seeing the sparks fly. Nor am I the only one who wants to avoid them because Reno is suddenly standing next to Tseng's right and gently trying to urge him away by placing his hand on Tseng's shoulder while the other two come up behind him in support.

"We should go, Man. There's plenty of other places we can get inta trouble at."

But Tseng doesn't listen.

Instead, he's decided to continue with the uncharacteristic and childish name-calling that he and Yuffi have started with—in Wutian—and I'm partially grateful that most people in the tavern have no idea what they're saying, if not all of them.

I'm also beginning to question my earlier assumptions about Tseng being mature since right now, he's stooping even lower than Yuffi by digging up dirt that none of us have ever heard before. And although her reactions state that they're true, it stops neither of them from digging into inappropriate secrets of one another's past, suggesting that they might know each other slightly better than either of them have let on.

Wutai's a small place though, and I remember what Tseng told me about the tight nature of it when I begin to wonder where either of them are getting their degrading stories from.

From Yuffi being the Wutian tramp he's accusing her of being by sleeping with men so she can steal from them, and Tseng being the Wutian trash she's accusing him of being by being the son of a…

"_Rapist_!"

Kjata, I think, hoping that it's not true as those that can understand them fall silent, and Tseng stares blankly at her, silent as everyone else and lacking any hint of what's going through a mind that's dangerously capable of doing anything.

"What did you say?" he chillingly asks, too calm to be convincing as if he genuinely didn't hear her, although he's unhealthily paled from what I can only assume is humiliation.

"Rapist," she repeats, unwavering and refusing to falter, "I'm not the one whose mother had to run to the hills because she decided to keep the bastard son of a man that raped her!"

He only blinks twice, and slowly. He doesn't even quirk his brow as if it would crack the stone expression it's turned to. Then without any sign of warning, he backhands her, hard enough to send her flying to the floor and pulls out his gun while cocking the safety back.

"_Wutian devil!_" he hisses, still in their native language and with fires burning dangerously in his hate-filled eyes.

Unfortunately though, his unpredictable reaction is enough for me to pull out my own gun from nothing more than instinct, knowing that he's probably more capable of killing her than he is of wounding me.

"Shit!" is the only other thing I hear—coming from Reno—along with, "Oh no," from Tifa, as the barrel of Reno's gun aims dangerously at me.

Neither Turk is using their usual weapon of choice, making me seriously doubt that they're anything but serious in their intentions as Tifa's tavern cautiously clears out as quietly and unnoticeably as it can.

"We don't want no trouble," Reno says, no shake to his voice and a conviction in his eyes that states there will be trouble if that's the only choice he's left with.

"Then put the guns down," I tell him, making it clear that there's going to be a mess if anyone fires.

But it's more complicated than that, since Tseng is still somewhere in the burning pits of his own self-hatred and being threatened by another lover over someone he suspects he's lost them to. Though nobody knows that part and it's only an assumption on my end. However, the fact that he didn't look at me once since they entered and is still refusing to look at me, tells me that he might have thought there was still something between us, only to be crushed by whatever he thinks is the reality of the situation.

"Tseng… Man…" Reno starts. Though he keeps his eyes cautiously on me while Tifa warily comes up behind me and Rude and Elena carefully come up behind them, "I think ya should put the gun away… No one understood what she said… We should jus go."

"I'll say it in Midgarian then," she spitefully interjects, disguising stupidity with bravery as she pushes herself up and rubs at her cheek, "Son of a-rmph—!"

All I can do is wonder why everyone I know has a death wish while I hope that the hand I've roughly placed over her mouth is enough to keep it shut.

"That's enough," I tell her, wishing I didn't have to and coming to terms with why he always avoided the topic, or even turned harsh whenever I asked him about his father. Meanwhile, Tseng's attention suddenly snaps to me like he's just noticing my gun now.

"I'd tell you to control your pet," he coldly says before he smirks and looks me up and down as if he's never seen me before. Then he taps on his cane with his other hand, suggesting what he thinks is a suitable course of action before adding, "but I should know better than to expect a savage to properly deal with a muckraking foulander."

He puts his gun away then, possibly coming to the same conclusion as everyone else, knowing that it's not worth it before he returns his attention to Yuffi, unable to hide the sting from what she said. But he says nothing. Instead, he only stares at her, unreadable. Then he turns and brushes past the others to make his way out, struggling to salvage and regain every sense of dignity that he pretended to have to begin with.

I can see the cracks though, minuscule as they are, and I keep my hand over Yuffi's mouth while both Reno and I put our guns away, coming to a silent truce and the others leave, following Tseng.

But the redhead stays behind, and all the while, he keeps his eyes locked to mine in a conniving manner while I hang onto the rambunctious youth to keep her from getting into any more trouble.


	21. Along Came a Turk

**Along Came a Turk**

* * *

"Go after him," Reno tells Rude and Elena. "Make sure he's all right."

"Yes, Sir," Elena energetically responds while Rude starts silently on his way like he always does, and follows her.

"Good thing no one knows what the hell ya said, Princess," Reno mutters in Wutian while his partners make their way out to chase after Tseng. Then he grabs Yuffi by the arm and yanks her out of my grasp so he can look at the flowering bruise on her cheek and purposefully press on it, knowing that it's tender and probably knowing how hard Tseng hits from personal experience.

"Ouch!"

"Hurt?"

"Yes!"

"Good," he says, still speaking in her tongue before he pulls out a handkerchief and wipes at the small cut on her cheek.

"Ya know, somehow, I jus don't see the appropriate relation ta diggin that deep when all he did was comment on the fact that yer a tramp an ya look like a boy." Then he pushes her toward Tifa and mutters, "Cuz ya are and ya do."

Afterwards, he snickers and looks at Tifa while returning to the Midgarian tongue, "Keep an eye on her, would ya? Maybe make sure she cleans that cut properly too, so it don't get infected."

With a reluctant nod, Tifa guides Yuffi into the back while Reno watches them with his typical and conniving look, and I begin to wonder if it's just the way he looks before he turns to me and pulls a loose hair from my shoulder.

"Ya shed like a cat, Man," he tells me.

But he doesn't discard it. Instead, he runs it through his fingers as if he's comparing it to something. Then he drops himself to the chair he was standing near while letting the hair fall to the floor, and he lazily leans back as he scopes the tavern.

"Heh. Never fails… Pull out a few guns an ya've got the place all ta yerself."

After that, he stretches his legs out like he's planning to stay and he hangs his elbows over the back of the chair, looking awkward and uncomfortable. It makes him look like a flapbeat on strings as he sets his attention on the dirty ashtray in front of him and starts shaking his leg like it'll take his mind off of something.

"Thought it was a good idea ta get 'im out of the house," he mutters. "Been tryin ta get 'im out of his shell fer the last couple'a weeks now."

Then he tilts his head and confides as he tosses a large amount of gil on the table to compensate Tifa for her losses.

"He's been actin strange, like he's upset about somethin."

All the while, I'm wondering why Reno is telling me things of a private nature, and I'm wondering if I should be walking away, pretending that I don't care. But there's a problem. I can't seem to bring myself to move as the vulgar redhead clears his throat and leans forward to rest his forearms on his knees.

"Was 'is birthday today," he tells me, before he finally stands and lets out a retiring sigh and looks like he's trying to draw a reaction out of me.

I don't give him one though, and it doesn't register right away as I watch him lazily let his arms fall to his sides, until it sinks in that it was a year ago, exactly, that him and Elena were tortured by the remnants…

_His birthday… _

Then with a dry smirk, he walks over to the table and picks up an unfinished beer that didn't belong to him and guzzles it down like he'd been parched for days.

I'd ask him why he was telling me information that shouldn't be any of my business. But I don't want to feed into what I believe he already suspects by giving him a possible lead in and by possibly saying the wrong thing. Instead, I tell myself he's only playing by his motto. He's off duty right now and he doesn't have to be enemies or friends with anyone if he doesn't want to be, even if it's his orders. Nor does he have to play nicely with anyone either. It's all his choice when he's off the clock.

"Anyway, guess I should'a checked the guest list first, huh?" he says and snickers, not seeming to care that he might as well be talking to himself and making me wonder if he did check the guest list as he turns around and lazily leans against the door before scratching at his chest, "But how the fuck would I know somethin like this was gonna happen even if I did?"

After that, he snickers again and walks to the door while tapping his EMR on his shoulder.

"Well, take care, Man. Tell Tifa I'd apologize fer the incident in person, but I've got an emotionally wounded Turk ta tend ta. An I think he's gonna need a lotta compassion ta help 'im get over it..."

He almost looks as if he'd like to be the one to do it too, while I bite my tongue and lower my face into my mantle as he snidely continues with a further dig.

"Oh yeah, an like Tseng said, ya might wanna keep yer _girlfriend _on a tighter leash—fer her sake."

He smiles at me then, like the conniving rat that he is while I take note of the hidden innuendos that he's implying, and I remember Tseng telling me that he'd strayed from Sephiroth before, and the reason. And I literally feel myself burning up as a result.

* * *

_"I caught word that he'd slept with one of the grunts from Soldier. So I figured I'd get even."_

_"Did you?"_

_"Yes."_

* * *

It wasn't the best news I'd ever heard from him. But it wasn't the worst either. I think I was more disturbed by the fact that he never elaborated on what he did, and I'm suddenly regretting never asking.

And although my logic is telling me that he doesn't want the Turks seeing what state he was left in—never mind the rest of us—I can't seem to brush off the nagging voice that's telling me he thinks I'm with Yuffi now, and that he might suddenly not care anymore about what he does next. That is of course, if he's as bothered as I'm thinking he is and not just hoping, despite how twisted that hope may be.

But then again, I should also be questioning Reno's motives and asking myself why he was even hinting at whatever it was that he was hinting at, never mind the fact that I just realized that he was speaking to me in the Northern dialect of the Forgotten Capital and that I was answering him in the same language.

Whether it was because he didn't want Tifa and Yuffi overhearing him, or if he was trying to tell me something entirely different, remains a mystery though. Nor does it take precedence over the fact that I'm tracking him in hopes of getting to Tseng before he does—all promises to stay away suddenly forgotten.

* * *

"So, what did she say to him?" I hear Rude asking Reno as I creep passed the bald Turk's home and remain in the shadows.

"Dunno."

"Yes you do."

"All right… How 'bout… It ain't any of yer business then?"

"Mm," Rude mumbles before he sits back and removes his tie when Reno sits forward and drinks half of his beer in one gulp, "I knew I should've learned Wutian instead of Nibel."

"Ech. Wutian's overrated," Reno mutters before he sits back and Rude stretches his arms across the back of the sofa, relaxed and resting them behind Reno. Then they both unexpectedly jump when someone knocks on the door.

"Ya expectin company?"

"Elena?" Rude guesses, not appearing to be sure of it but willing to make the guess as he quickly sits forward, looking uncomfortable all the sudden while clasping his hands over his lap, "He might have kicked her out."

"Heh. Would'n put it passed 'im." Reno agrees as he stands and straightens out his shirt before nodding at Rude to go ahead and open the door, "'Course, it only means he's gonna be that much worse ta deal with when he finally decides ta come back out."

"No shit," Rude responds before he opens the door to a distracted-looking Elena.

"He said he was fine," she blankly says before she mindlessly walks in and takes Reno's beer from his hand to take a drink and reluctantly sighs. "He told me he wanted to take a bath and that he'd prefer to do it alone."

"So you left?" Rude asks while I start to back farther into the shadows, deciding that I've gotten all the information I'm ever going to get from those three, never mind the fact that it's all I need.

"What the hell else was I going to do?"

* * *

All I can do is thank whatever fates there may be when I come to discover that he still hasn't fixed the latch on his bedroom window as I approach. And I hesitantly clench my teeth, knowing I'm probably the last person he wants to see right now. But unfortunately, he's the only person that I want to see right now and I carefully open the window before creeping over to his bed to sit on the edge, quietly waiting for him to come out of his bathroom.

I've spent a long enough time with him to know that he doesn't like being bothered when he's in there. I'm already taking a risk by sitting on his bed since I know how he feels about surprises, and I wind up focussing on a particular moment involving something similar not that long ago.

* * *

_"What the hell did you do that for?"_

_"For Leviathan's sake, Vince. It's only a flesh wound. Besides, you heal faster than anything that breathes."_

_"That's not the point."_

_"If you don't like it? Then quit barging in on me like that."_

_"Barging in on you…? It sounded like you fell."_

_"I did. But it still doesn't change the fact that I've spent several years with people trying to kill me at every opportunity they get. If you surprise me, I react. Now quit taking it so personally."_

* * *

_Personally…_ I think to myself, repeating it in my head while I sit here and anticipate what he's going to do when he comes out, almost like a part of me lives for it. Or maybe it's the familiar scent of his surroundings that gets to me, making me nostalgic over his faults that I no longer find fault in.

The subtle aroma of lavender, his cologne that lingers in the air, and the fact that I know where he keeps every one of his blades makes me feel like I'm where I belong and where I want to be. And I can only hope that he wants me to be here too, although I'm certain he feels otherwise.

And it takes me a moment to resurface from the depths I always fall into before I realize that he's already come out of the bathroom. He's standing under the frame of the doorway, silently hesitating and toying with the blade I would have expected him to throw at me by now. But he hasn't yet, and he's clutching to the collar of his robe like he's in the presence of a stranger, holding it closed like he always does and never getting used to the idea that he's less than perfect now.

"Vince," he says, almost under his breath, cold and unfeeling and as if he was waiting for me to look up and acknowledge him before he allowed himself to acknowledge me.

"Tseng."

"If you're here because you're unnecessarily worried about me, what I might do, or what I might be thinking about you… and…"

For a moment, he awkwardly pauses. Though he hides his uncertainty well when he adds that, "You're wrong."

Then he places the blade flat on the surface of his dresser, almost like he's trying to be humble.

_I know,_ I think, not really agreeing but doing it habitually. I'm always wrong, and no one ever needs to worry about him because he can take care of himself. Though inwardly, he knows that I'm the one who always thinks he's the one who's wrong, and I thoughtlessly mutter out, "It's not what you think."

"Don't waste your unnecessary breath," he says, clinically, and knowing that I continue to breathe even though I don't need to as he looks toward the living room through his open door, "You don't need to explain yourself."

Then he nods and looks down as if he's already made up his mind, believing what he concluded from the start.

He says it like there's nothing I can say that can persuade him from his conviction before he mutters while walking to the front of his dresser to pull out his night clothes and reluctantly adds, "Besides, I must admit that she seems more your type than I ever was… and she's quite pretty."

With a futile feeling over the fact that he's trying to pretend that he's not affected and even approves, I let out a heavy breath and get up before I find myself standing behind him.

"Quit being so difficult," I tell him, husky and low as I take a chance and put my arms around his waist.

"Are you sure you want to be touching me after what your girlfriend so graciously pointed out?"

"She's not my girlfriend," I tell him before I rest my chin on his shoulder and debate on asking what I wind up asking anyway. "Is it true?"

"Does it matter?"

"No," I tell him, pulling him closer and losing myself in the familiar and welcome scents that he carries and the fact that he isn't pushing me away. Though I suspect a part of him wants to while I take another chance and attempt to tease him in hopes that it will lighten his mood, "None of it would change the fact that you're already intolerable."

With a mild snort, he sets his nightshirt onto the surface of his dresser and tilts his head, attempting to look at me.

"She was a dancer, you know… my mother," he says as a fact while his eyes wander over my own in search for a reaction. "A respectable one."

Then he smiles. Though it's not a happy smile, and he turns around in my arms to grab my hand when he puts his other arm around my waist.

"She taught me."

Then he rests his head on my shoulder and wonders, "Perhaps it's time I finally ask you if you dance."

"I never learned," I tell him before I sense him smiling again as he starts to subtly sway us both.

"I suppose I'll have to lead then."

After that, he adjusts himself so he can look at me with that devilish glint of his, passing through his eyes, and he falsely snickers, seeming less genuine than he's trying to pretend to be.

I can't help but sigh over the matter, realizing that Yuffi must have struck a nerve that ran too deep in Tseng as he moves a little less subtly, with more rhythm, and takes me unknowingly into the open area between his bed and his dresser. I'd comment on the fact that he's probably happy to finally find something I'll let him lead in. But it hardly seems appropriate, and I respond by doing my best to awkwardly play along with his wishes, telling myself that maybe he deserves it this time.

"She was part of a show," he says, distantly, before he slightly dips me, testing to see how far he can go with me. "They would travel, attempting to spread _Wutian_ culture throughout the world…" With a roll to his eyes at the mention of Wutai, he wryly smirks and jerks me closer, testing me again and sarcastically stating, "To gain esteem, I suppose."

After that, he steps back and stares at my cloak.

"Of course, it was nothing more than entertainment, really."

Then he feathers down my shoulders as if he's brushing dust off of me and mumbles as if he's in a daze, "Beautiful girls… Beautiful boys… Drunken audiences…"

He smirks then, wryly, and steps back while grabbing near the neck of his robe to ensure that it stays closed when he sourly mutters as he returns to his dresser, "You know how it goes."

"Gongaga," Is the best I can seem to come up with as the word stupidly spills from my mouth and I stand there, not knowing what's going through his mind as he takes the bottoms to his pyjamas from his dresser and places the shirt on top of them before taking a step toward his bathroom.

"Is where it all started," he adds.

Then he pauses with his back to me and picks at a loose thread on the nightclothes in his arms.

"He broke into her room and beat her within an inch of her life… broke her legs, her back, and her left arm," he tells me while he continues to casually pick at his clothes. Then he mutters with a sigh, knowing that there's nothing he could have done since he didn't exist then. "She was in a wheelchair for several years after that… no longer able to dance."

_That's why she limped,_ I recall, too cautious to state my observations on her crippled state when he first brought me to his home, and I hesitate when I wonder if my desire to hold him is too premature.

"They wanted her to abort the child, telling her no good could come from keeping it… They viewed it as a bad omen."

With a dry snort, almost like he agrees on some level, he slicks his hair back and straightens up as if he needs to regain his false dignity.

"She's a stubborn woman though…" he adds. "She was driven out of town by her own people, exiled for her decision to keep it."

Torn between the decision to tell him I agree with her decision or to tell him that they were right with no intention other than playful mockery, I stay silent and quietly remove my gauntlet and gloves. Then I remove the armour from my boots and ignore him when he notices while quirking his brow.

"I don't recall saying you could stay here, Vince."

"I don't recall asking," I detachedly retort while I continue to remove my shoes, "Nor do I recall saying you could call me Vince."

Whether it's a good argument or not, I don't really care, and I figure I'll add it anyway. Maybe a part of me hopes it will give me a head start if I wind up needing it. But all he does is stare at me, unreadable as ever, despite whatever heart-to-heart he was attempting to have a moment ago.

"Get out."

"Get out?" I repeat, saying it like the idea is absurd before I start unbuckling my cloak and kick my boots off. "You can do better than that."

I know he can do better than that. He's the most degrading person that I know when it comes to trying to achieve results. He's verbally cruel when he doesn't get his way or when he thinks it will help him to get his way faster, and he's physically lashing as a last resort. Part of me wonders if I hunger for it since I seem to like driving him to the edge to see what he'll do next, and part of me wonders if he hungers for it as well, despite his frustrations since he always seems to invite me back as if he wants more.

But he just stands there, still, mindlessly petting his pyjamas with the tips of his fingers as if he's holding a black cat in his arms, and he watches me kick my boots away from my feet while throwing my cloak onto his bed.

"I'd say that you've lost your mind," he tells me, statuesque and stoic as always, and running his eyes over me, deceiving anything cold or insulting that he might be saying. "But I believe that's common knowledge."

I only nod at him, lowering my head like I couldn't agree more. Son of a rapist, father of a lost daughter, kidnapper and con artist, they're contradictions that never seem to end with him. He could be the devil for all I care at this point—and I'm still not ruling that one out, as I grab him by the waist and move him against the wall because none of it really matters anyway.

Like him, I was damned from the day I was born, and no more harm can possibly be done to me by playing with the burning coals that he represents. At least, that's what I tell myself as I grab his jaw and he squirms a little, clinging to his pyjamas and playing hard to get like he always does—refusing to admit that there might be something in front of him that he wants.

But he always betrays himself, each time, by those softening eyes that hunger for something he can never satiate, despite how much he continues to try to convince us both that he's not what I want, and although I firmly believe that I'm not the one that he wants. I know I'm everything that he tries to run away from. I may even be too similar to Sephiroth in ways that keep his memories alive, and if there was a chance I could change it, I probably would.

I can't stay away from him though. I tried for both of us. But seeing him again awakened something dead in me, and the confusion that he relentlessly stirs in me comes flooding back. And when my tongue finds refuge against the weakening struggle of his own, he manages to somehow mutter something about Yuffi again—something about the fact that I should get back to her so she doesn't worry.

"Stop it," I mumble while I slide my hand through the opening of his robe and run my tongue along his slender neck, always clean, always smooth, always scented, and never tasting like that scent.

"Stop what?" he breathes out. "I'm not gullible enough to believe that she wasn't hanging off of you like you belonged to her."

Then he pushes me away and I take note of the fact that he does it like he doesn't really want to.

"She's irritating," I mutter, staring at nothing all the sudden and not even paying attention to what I'm saying, "even as a replacement for you."

Then I turn my attention to him and focus on his eyes, deep enough to get lost in and hypnotic enough to never find my way out again.

And I wonder what kind of trap he is all the sudden, if he is one, and I ask almost like it's part of a conversation we were already having, "Have you always attracted straight men?"

"Pardon?" he asks, unable to pretend that the question doesn't affect him. But mostly because he's confused by it while I continue to study his features, contrasts, and colouring. He's almost black and white, monochrome, as if he was drawn in charcoals by an expert.

"You said your first lover…" I start, remembering how other men have turned to look at him whenever he walks by them. It's been like that during all the time I'd been with him, "was straight."

"He was," he answers as he pulls his robe closed and holds his pyjamas closer to his body, like he's suddenly feeling exposed. Then he looks uncomfortable and snidely points out, irritated all the sudden, "But I don't see what that has to do with anything."

And it makes me wonder if there's any relevance to it at all while I take another look at him and I'm reminded of the dolls my mother used to make.

"It doesn't…" I mutter, shaking my head just enough to hope that he won't notice how my mind is wandering, and I refrain from telling him that he looks like what he would probably call a mongrel's doll, despite the compliment that I believe it to be.

The thought almost makes me feel like smiling over the fact that he's a fallible prick, and in an attempt to hide the fact that I'm mentally wandering off like I always do, I set my attention on the picture sitting on his dresser. It's of him and his mother, a happier day, and he has his arm around her waist, supporting her, I realize, and I find myself moving up to him again, despite his caution, and placing my arm around his waist in the same manner while I carefully pull his nightclothes from his grip and place them back on his dresser.

"When did she start walking?" I ask, hoping to keep my mind from wandering too far and too suspiciously over what makes him attractive and what keeps him alive, and I ignore the fact that he hasn't been oblivious to my wandering mind by the fact that he's not accepting me very willingly.

He's cautious and I can't say that I blame him.

"Pardon?"

"Your mother," I tell him, motioning my head toward the picture of him, hair in a high pony tail, adoring concern in his eyes, and I think of how much he really looks like something that was created by another's hand. And if it wasn't for the scars and the beginnings of aging lines, I might even believe it.

With a quirk to his brow, he follows my gaze and rests his head against the wall.

"When I was young, I used to urge her to get up," he says as if he's mentally travelling back in time and he frowns. "I didn't understand things then, and I think she felt guilty that she couldn't meet my demands."

Then he sighs and picks up the picture, tilting it so he can study parts of it that help him reflect better, "It was only the two of us, and she would always go out of her way to make sure that we had everything we needed."

With a slight admiration for his mother's strength and independence, and for Tseng's loyalty toward her, I find myself moving closer and just holding him, taking some kind of comfort in the sound of his heart beating and the fact that it does beat. He always turns more human when he thinks of her or talks about her, and I always find myself wanting to hang onto that part of him for as long as I can.

He smiles at something then, and he puts the picture back before returning my hold by sliding his arms under mine and resting his head on my shoulder.

"She told me that it was because of me that she learned how to walk again," he breathes out. Then he tightens his grip and pulls me with him as he leans his back toward the wall. "She said that I gave her a reason."

I assume it's among the reasons he lies to her, contradictory shame and guilt, I decide to leave it at that and I place the palm of my hand against the side of his cheek when he rests his head against the wall again, and he mutters with a sleepy look in his eyes, "What is it about you?"

"I'd tell you if I knew," I cockily answer, studying him as intently as he's studying me.

"You must be the only person alive…" he starts, before he pauses, probably wondering what I think he's wondering—if I _am _alive. Then he shakes it off and pushes my headscarf up a bit, "that's managed to pick me apart in the short time that you've been around me."

"That's because I know the secret," I teasingly tell him while I move my hand to his shoulder and start massaging it with a light touch.

"Mmm… What's that?"

"You talk when you're being pampered," I tell him, moving close enough to whisper it into his ear and knowing from experience that he turns soft whenever there's a massage involved, or the promise of one coming his way.

"A secret I should keep from my enemies…" he playfully responds, and he closes his eyes while moving his head to the side to encourage me to keep going when he wryly adds, "A secret I probably should have kept from you as well."

"Hm," I snort, and I move closer to brush my mouth along his jaw-line before I curl my fingers into the back of his head and whisper into his ear, breathing hot along the edge, "I think you like having someone know."

"Just not you," he mutters, whispering back as he unconsciously responds by brushing his cheek against mine and then pulling my earlobe into his teeth, lightly nibbling.

"Then who?" I ask, firmly crawling my fingertips along his back, downward, and swimming dizzily into his satisfied moans from the pressure.

"Anyone but you."

"I don't believe you," I tell him, immediately cutting him off from anything else he might say by sealing his mouth with my own and moving my hand back to the front of his robe. Again, not caring who he is, what he is, or where he comes from, and letting myself fall back into the lure of whatever he entices me with, only for him to try to ruin it like he always does.

Or, at the very least, he tries.

"Go down on me."

He says it every time, sometimes his words are more vulgar like he wants to turn me off, and other times it's more pleading, like now, stating that he really does want me to do it. And each time I respond the same way.

I consider that he does it for me, even though I tell him not to, and I consider that it might not be as bad as I make it out to be, and that it can't hurt.

And then my stomach turns, and I wind up roughly nudging him and telling him, "No."

But I don't this time. Instead, I lean back and look at him with my hand pressed to the side of his face again. His eyes are closed, tongue running across the bottom lip of his partially open mouth, and he subtly moves against me, seemingly approving of what I'm doing with my other hand to subdue him. Then he pulls my thumb into his mouth by curling his tongue around it, and I move closer to kiss whatever part of his mouth I can as he does it.

And then the whole world seems to stop as I swallow back my reluctance and start to slowly kneel in front of him, torturously telling myself that it's only an appendage. To make matters worse, I never would have hesitated if he was a woman, and I remind myself that I'm not being fair when I start to buckle from the intention, taking more time than I need to get to where he wants me to go.

Blaming him doesn't help either though, and I close my eyes, reminding myself again that it's nothing, and I kiss his inner thigh, needing more time to convince myself that I can do this while lightly swiping my tongue along the skin, and I almost kiss the ground when someone saves me by knocking on his door.

Selfish, I know I am.

"Do you plan these things?" he accuses, along with a complimenting glare as the front of his robe snaps shut and he kicks me back by my shoulder, causing me to stumble backwards as I protectively cover the sore spot, telling myself to swallow the ache and not to react. Then he mutters, "Every fucking time," referring to the other times I nearly caved and was somehow saved by unforeseen circumstances.

I don't know whether I should laugh from relief or beg for mercy before I start to crawl toward his bed while he tightens the belt of his robe and calls out with an unmistakable agitation in his voice, "What do you want?"

"Uh… It's me, Reno," comes the muffled sound from outside, and immediately, he stiffens with concern over what mindless thing I might do over the sound of that demon's voice, and I clench my fists in the semblance of what I want to do to that redhead's scrawny little neck.

"Jus thought I'd check up on ya, make sure everythin's all right."

"Tell him to go away," I growl, low enough for only Tseng to hear and angry enough for him to show some concern.

"I can't," he hisses back.

"Why not?"

"Because he won't believe anything that I say if I do."

"No one believes you anyway," I mutter as my hand unconsciously jerks toward my gun when Reno taps on his door again, and Tseng jumps forward while calling out, "Give me a second—I'm indecent."

"No worries," Reno answers, almost like he'd rather see Tseng indecent, while Tseng threateningly hisses at me.

"Don't make me regret letting you back in."

"I let myself in," I fire back, not really thinking and causing him to shake his head at me and kneel down to take my gun away. Then he grabs me by the shoulders and roughly pushes me onto his bed.

"I don't think we have enough time for that right now," I sarcastically mutter, unable to hide the sour undertone of the fact that I don't even want him talking to that redheaded bandersnatch right now, never mind opening his damn door for him.

"I don't know what the hell's gotten into you," he growls, keeping it low and pushing my legs back as well, "But if you try to pull another one of your stunts like the last time—"

"I can't promise that," I tell him, causing him to automatically stand straight and slick his hair back. Then he quirks his brow and says, almost regretfully, "Then I'm going to have to ask you to leave, Vincent."

"Vince."

"Don't start that again."

"I'm not leaving."

"Then stay on the damned bed and don't move," he hisses, urgently as he steps backwards, out of the room and habitually clasping at the collar of his robe. After that, he mumbles more to himself than to me, "I'll try to get rid of him as fast as I can."

In the meantime, my attention falls toward the collection of knives Tseng has when I hear him stuff my gun into one of the cupboards in his kitchen before he rushes to the door to let that conniving crawler in disguise inside.


	22. I Think I Do

**I Think I Do**

* * *

"I'm fine," is the first thing Tseng says, rudely, when he opens the door far enough to let his head through. In the meantime, I get the idea to use one of his blades as a mirror and move it so I can see their reflection through the crack of the door while he adds, "Just like I told Elena."

"Yeah, I know whatcha told Elena."

"Oh?"

"Yeah… Ya told her to get the fuck outta yer house."

"Not quite in those words," Tseng responds. "You've obviously added your own touch to the story."

"Whatever, Man…" Reno lazily responds. Then he lowers his voice to a more civilized level, "Ya gonna let me in er what?"

"I had no intention of letting you in," Tseng answers while he opens the door all the way and points at his room. "As you can see, I was getting ready for bed."

"Hm," Reno mutters. Then he leans against Tseng's doorframe and folds his arms across his chest. "Maybe ya'd like me ta tuck ya in then."

"Pardon?"

"Nothin," Reno mumbles before he rests his head against the frame, almost flirtatiously, and my grip tightens around Tseng's blade, "Bullshit aside, I really wanted ta make sure ya were okay."

"I don't see why you would have thought otherwise," Tseng responds, and he lets go of the door to hold onto the collar of his robe.

"Really?" With a sarcastic snort, Reno runs his eyes over Tseng's body and snickers, "I honestly hope yer only pretendin ta be stupid."

Then he rudely pushes Tseng aside and walks halfway into his living room and stares at the small potbelly stove in the corner, before his eyes move to the near-empty bookshelf between the stove and the small window and shakes his head, "Cuz I know ya ain't that dense."

After that, they start with their typical bantering where Tseng continues to insist that he's fine and that he would be happier if everyone would simply leave him alone, and Reno typically digs, poking his nose into his business like he doesn't believe him. All the while, I'm finding it harder to fight the urge to go out there and snap the little weasel's neck for no reason that I can find an explanation for.

"I admit I was a little upset at first," Tseng unaffectedly tells him as if the redhead's presence and comments aren't affecting him in the least.

"Ya think?"

"All right…" he calmly admits, and respectively bows before humbly adding, "A lot."

"No shit, Man. I really thought ya were gonna shoot the girl," Reno confesses as he leans against the back of Tseng's sofa so that he's partially sitting on it. "Hell, I think everyone thought ya were gonna shoot her… made us all a little nervous."

"Well, I didn't," Tseng reminds him, and he walks over to the redhead to urge him away from his sofa and back to the door.

"Good thing," Reno states. "Cuz I almost thought I was gonna have ta shoot the poor girl's boyfriend jus ta protect yer sorry ass," he says, almost sounding conniving and causing me to grip my hand tighter around the handle of the blade while I attempt to stop myself from doing something I know I'll regret.

At that, Reno stops as if he's digging his heals in and stares at Tseng with a scheming glint in his eyes, almost accusatory as they wander over his superior's face, searching for something like he was doing with me back at the Tavern. Then he tilts his head and states as if he's merely musing out loud, "Ya know… That guy sheds a lot."

"I doubt I would have noticed," Tseng coolly responds while Reno reaches over and pulls a hair from Tseng's robe, one of mine.

"Really? Cuz not much ever gets passed ya," he states, almost like he's accusing him of something while he runs his fingers along the strand of hair and snickers. And again, I can't help but give in to whatever obsessive need I suddenly have to ignore Tseng's request, and like a predator, I quietly move to get ready to attack and unintentionally cause the bed to creek.

Then with no warning, Tseng grabs Reno and slams him into the wall as if to distract him and I can't even be bothered to care if he was fast enough to do it.

"Hey!" Reno exclaims while Tseng places his hand on the wall above the Turk's head as if to corner him even though he continues to hang onto his robe with his other hand.

"I'm not sure what you're getting at," Tseng calmly says to him while challenging eyes stare back at him as if they both know that he does, "but you're really starting to irritate me."

After that, he roughly pulls Reno back by the collar and walks him to the door again, but quickly this time, knowing that he needs to get him out as fast as he can.

"And as I've stated several times already. I would _prefer_ to be left alone."

"Somehow, I don't think ya are alone," Reno fires back before Tseng slicks his hair back and steps closer to Reno while lowering his voice.

"Do me a favour… Would You?" he says, almost sounding too sweet while he rests his hand on Reno's shoulder and smoothes the sleeves of his jacket down, and Reno stares back at him, but warily this time. "The next time you decide to send your brother a gift of affection, or even go so far as to _see _him against your orders, give him my regards."

"Yer a fuckin prick sometimes… Ya know that?"

"Only when I have to be."

For a moment, Reno silently falters, unsure of what to say next. Then he stormily pushes Tseng back like he's frustrated, causing me to defensively tense up, and he attempts to call him on his bluff or what he probably hopes to be a bluff while lowering the tight tone to his voice.

"Ya would'n fuckin tell him."

"You know I won't tell Rufus anything I don't have to, Reno," Tseng says, almost melodic in his threat before he waves his hand at him in a dismissive motion and starts to close the door while the redhead's still standing under the frame, "You know that."

* * *

Once the door is closed, Tseng lets out a heavy sigh and mutters out "Leviathan…" before he tiredly leans against it and stares at the floor. In the meantime, I get off the bed and walk to the door of his room, still unconsciously gripping the knife and unable to let go of whatever it is that's pent up inside.

"I could really use a drink right now," he confesses. Then he looks at the knife in my hand and shakes his head like he knows what's going through my mindless thoughts, and he wryly mutters, "Maybe two."

"Sorry," I confess in a low and restrained growl, almost wishing that I could do a better job at hiding whatever my intentions were.

"Don't be," he breathes out. Then he shakes his head again and rubs at his shoulder while rolling it, "It's not the first time he's been a pain in the ass like that."

After that, he snickers and slouches as if he's exhausted while tiredly adding, "And it probably won't be the last either."

"I don't like him."

"Don't start that again," he mutters. Then he pushes himself from the door and walks up to me to deliberately take the knife away while elaborating on what he knows was really going through my head.

"The only thing Reno likes is knowing everything that there is to know about everyone else, and because he's never found any solid proof on what he believes about me, it drives him crazy."

With a slight chuckle, Tseng studies the blade I was holding and coaxes me back into the room where he puts it on his dresser and mindlessly pets the handle of it like he's admiring it.

"As a result, he drives me crazy too… At times…"

"I was under the impression that everyone drove you crazy," I sarcastically say while trying to take the edge out of my tone. It doesn't help that I'm still feeling tense over Reno's brass nerve and silently questioning why the hell he would want to find proof over Tseng's preferences anyway.

"Mm," he mutters before he looks me up and down with a quick glint in his eyes and quirks his brow, unable to fight the urge to comment on what I said, "_You_ certainly do."

Then he coaxingly pushes me back onto the bed and starts to climb over me while I push myself up so I'm not draping over the edge.

"In fact you drive me crazy enough to want to kill us both at times."

"I know the feeling," I mutter. Then I jump when he nudges my legs apart and lowers himself between them.

But he doesn't do anything to feed into the nervous feeling that I'm unable to hide. Instead, he just rests there and places his head against my chest while wrapping the ends of my hair around his fingers and sighs.

"What are we doing?"

I've never known, I think, while I stare at the ceiling, inhaling his scent and placing my other arm across his back as I rest my hand on his shoulder. I can feel his heart beating against my lower ribs and I almost feel like sinking when I think that he should be able to feel mine too, as well as hear it. But I know that he can't.

"I don't know," I tell him, and I regret the fact that I almost sound like I didn't want to say it.

"We couldn't be more wrong for each other."

"I know," I say, unable to wish that part away before I lift my leg so that my knee is raised, and I pull him upward, wondering why it should matter and knowing why it does.

And it doesn't help when I look at the aging lines around his eyes, a little more prominent than they were when I first met him, and I realize that I won't be growing old with him either. And like always, he seems to know what I'm thinking and never refrains to frown over the matter.

"I won't be this attractive forever, you know."

"Who said you were attractive?" I mutter, mildly playful while I brush his hair behind his ear, still black like night, and I wonder how long it will be before that part of him starts to change as well.

"You don't think that I am?" he asks. But it's not a self-conscious question. It sounds more like it never crossed his mind that I thought he was while he lowers his eyes and toys with the uppermost buckle across my shirt.

"Of course you don't."

Then he lets out a short snicker, more of a snort than anything and playfully nips at my chin with his front teeth.

"Why would you?"

"I think you're handsome," I mutter, flat-sounding and wondering why I feel like I'm choking all the sudden. Then I knock his legs out from between mine so that he's left straddling my hips and confirming the fact that I think he feels like he's being used by me for my own unexplainable purposes.

He snickers at that, knowing it and focusing on the place where I keep the gift from Lucrecia. I know he can't see it, but he knows where it is and he lightly strokes his fingers over it while staring at the spot like he's looking through it.

"But nothing like her…"

There's no way I can argue with him, and I can't help but wish he'd stop doing that, knowing that it's a way to sink us both and wrongly confirm that he isn't worth anything to me. But I don't know how to tell him that he is because I don't really know how to tell him what makes him worth something.

"Stop comparing yourself to her," is the best I can come up with, husky and low while I push him farther up and he quickly covers his knee back up when it becomes exposed by the movement.

"I don't see how I can," he says, suddenly seeming to be agitated over something that he doesn't elaborate on before he attempts to get up and I grab him to keep him from walking away from me like he always does. "There's nothing to compare."

_Kjata,_ I think, wondering if he's doing this because he needs to self-destruct or if he just does it to confirm all of his beliefs, and I wind up telling him, "You're right. You're nothing like her."

Then I push him down and hold him beside me against the bed with his back to me, and I rest my chin between his shoulder and his neck and stare at the same wall that he's probably staring at.

"You're stronger than her," I say. Then I rub the hollow of my cheek against his jaw and let out an empty breath, "and less self-absorbed."

Unfortunately, it's true even though I don't like to openly admit to it. But I doubt he believes me, considering the way that he snickers and says, "So, now you're going to tell me that there's someone more self-absorbed than I am?"

"Yes," I mutter, remembering how he put his life on the line for me not that long ago, risking it when one of his ex-Turks nearly nailed me from behind. Then I place a light kiss near his ear and remember how he's taken more risks than I can count since I met him to make sure I was okay, not caught, or comfortable, and despite the guilt that I suddenly feel toward Lucrecia for thinking those things, I turn him over and stare down at him.

"In your own way…" I hesitantly start and place another kiss near the corner of his mouth, "you're the most selfless person I know."

Albeit, he's verbally stinging and always attempting to contradict that point. Then I place another kiss over his eye and brush my lips against his lashes when he disbelievingly snorts at me, knowing that I'm contradicting all the times that I've said—and will probably continue to say—that he's the most self-absorbed person I've ever known.

"And you call me a liar…" he muses, muttering it while drawing his fingers down my chest and stopping at one of the buckles.

"I always will."

"Hm," he mutters while we both take a moment to just stare at each other, neither of us showing any expression in our gaze, and I wind up thinking that maybe it's because neither of us remembers how.

"Well at least you can be honest about that," he says, bored sounding, like it's the best he'll ever get before he arches his back, raises his knee, and places his hand on the back of my neck to coaxingly pull me toward him.

* * *

It never gets easier, making love to him, and I still never know whether I'm doing things right or not. He never says anything and he always does his best to never make a sound, despite the raspy sounds that are carried on his breath. It's the only thing I've ever had to go by. He only breathes out after holding it, always keeps his eyes closed and he always grips the sheets in a way that I can't read, and I'm always too afraid to ask him for fear of hearing something I might not want to hear.

But I tell myself that I'm being concerned over nothing in the same breath of thought that my doubts reside in. And I remind myself that during the time we've spent together that he's never held back at pointing out any of my other mistakes, even minute ones, such as, "Leviathan… That's not how you clean a glass… That's going to leave spots," or, "can't you at least comb your hair? It's bad enough that it looks like razor weeds cut it…"

Then there's my personal favourite—the one that he never fails to point out as a reminder and he does it nearly every time we're about to have intercourse while pressing his hand against me like he still doesn't trust me and probably never will, "Be gentle… I'm not a woman."

_Not a woman…_

I'm well aware of that. I'm reminded each time I run my hands over his arms, strong and solid, or his chest, almost bare but too hard and firm, and his hips that are too slender and tapered to ever bare children.

There's nothing soft or supple about him that could ever make me think otherwise, and I find myself reminding myself that it's no different from touching myself. Though the reluctance that I never openly admit to never fades.

But the reluctance is never strong enough to make me stop, and the need that he stirs in me always takes precedence over the fact that I know I should.

And once it starts, I forget about all of those things that have no relevance anyway, and I only think about how much he seems perfect for me, more than right as his hand brushes over my hip and his head tilts back. It no longer matters that the breathy sounds he makes are no closer to the feminine whispers that I can barely recall, and it no longer matters that he's not…

Lucrecia.

And he knows it.

He knows it as well as I do, if not better because just as much as he can never be her, I'm reminded of how much I can never be his own poison, Sephiroth. I know that he keeps a picture of him in the drawer near his bedside, even though I never point it out or question him over it. But I know it's the only one that he never destroyed of him, and he keeps all the reminders of the things he lost because of him as well, making me wonder why he never visits his lost lover's grave or simply doesn't destroy everything to erase the memory.

And despite the custom shrine that depicts his love or hate for the man, he still carries it in his holster and he argues that unlike me, he doesn't mourn over those that don't deserve it.

_Of course not, _I think, lying beside him while he pants from whatever hell I've put him through again, if he's even capable of knowing what anything else is. All the while, I try to set my own mind at ease by carefully—and maybe even admiringly—stroking my hands over his body. He only hangs onto things that remind him of those that don't deserve it.

Then I lightly kiss his shoulders, brushing my lips over them while trying to brush irrelevant thoughts away, and I mindlessly ask him for the first time since we've been together when my attention turns to the drawer by his bedside, "What would you do if I told you that I loved you?"

My voice is low, the gruff growl that it always is when my thoughts are unintentionally vocalized as I fight with my own words. I'm expecting him to react like he always does, bitingly. But he only lies there, silently, making me wonder if he even heard me or if he's fallen asleep, and I almost feel relieved over the small hope that I'm left with.

Then he sighs and squirms so his back is pressed against my chest, knowing by now that I'm not ready to break the connection I'm still sharing with him. And I run my hands over his hips again, lightly, and wishing I could turn back the clock to erase what I thoughtlessly said.

"I suppose I'd come up with a way to badger you for being an idiot," he sighs, aloofly and quietly before he grabs my wandering hand and curls his fingers between mine. Then he adjusts his pillow and mutters, almost into it without turning around, "Then I'd probably do something equally idiotic like telling you that I love you back."

But neither of us would ever say it like it meant anything, I sarcastically finish for him, silently knowing that the last part sits in the backs of both our minds and fearing that we'd only be lying to each other if we said it, to make ourselves feel better, and wondering how much truth those lies would carry.

Though I'm not so sure of what I feel anymore, or if I feel anything at all.

And as a result, I nuzzle my face into the back of his neck with the soothing scents of lavender from his hair, and I tighten my grip around his waist like I never want to let him go. All the while, I'm holding his hand while it grows more listless as he falls asleep.

Then I wait.

I wait until I'm certain that he's traveled to a land of dreams, whether good or bad, and I place a small kiss at the nape of his neck before quietly muttering into the silence of the night, "I think I do…"

And I can only hope that I'm not saying it to make myself feel better.


	23. Choking

**Choking**

* * *

"Sephiroth…"

"Stay away from him, _Vincent_."

I think I'm still asleep.

I might be dreaming, but I'm not certain.

All I do know is that I can't breathe. I feel like I'm suffocating, and then I wonder why it suddenly matters.

I haven't been able to breathe for over 30 years.

"_Vincent!"_

* * *

His voice echoes through me, resounding and distant—Tseng's. It's urgent and concerned. But like always, it's low and cautious, not wanting to be overheard by anyone that he might have to explain himself to as something constricts my imaginary airway, and I react by gasping.

"_It's not possible."_

I think I might be stuck somewhere between worlds, and I think I can feel someone dragging me somewhere while words of disbelief and concern are being muttered. All the while, something else has a hold on me in a place where I have no ability to make it let go. It's like the grip of death.

"_Leviathan… Wake up, Damn it!"_

All the sudden, a dull thud strikes the side of my face, sharp and forceful and I open my eyes like I'm in shock and I start choking for air as if I need it. And there, I see Tseng hovering over me on the bathroom floor, staring down at me like he's concerned or worried while mindlessly stroking my bang back and staring into my eyes like he's studying me.

Then I take in the irony of who we both are, and I note that he somehow managed to cover himself with a sheet while trying to wake me up and drag me into his bathroom, as naked as the day I came into the world. I wonder if he did it because he has quicker access to his emergency supplies even though it probably would have made more sense if he brought them to me instead of the other way around. But those thoughts disappear when he smiles at me with a strange relief and lightly rubs at my throbbing cheek.

"You hit me," I suddenly realize before I'm even aware that I say it, and he shrugs as if it shouldn't be surprising while flicking a stray strand of hair behind his ear and quirking his brow.

"You wouldn't wake up," he says, still on his knees and leaning over to check my eyes even though he's admitted before that he has no idea how to discern the state of my well-being, "I had to do something to get you to respond."

"You hit like a ton of bricks," I flatly mutter, no longer feeling the need to breathe anymore and no longer needing to breathe while rubbing at my cheek to try to rub the stinging after-effect of his hit away.

"It seemed like you were suffocating," he clinically answers. Then he leans back on his heels while ensuring the sheet keeps everything I already know about concealed and he curiously regards me with a clinical tilt to his head, "You were grasping at your throat like you were choking, or probably more accurately, being strangled by something and I couldn't very well let you die here. Imagine the questions that would arise."

_Someone,_ I think. I don't bother saying it though because I know he's tired of hearing it, and I'm tired of him thinking that I need to get my head checked. Then his hand quickly grimaces and covers his gut like a sharp pain suddenly struck him. But he waves me away the moment I sit up to turn the table around by ensuring that he's the one that's all right.

"I'm more worried about you," he says, and he holds his hand against my chest to stop me from concerning myself, "My pains are ongoing, you know that." Then he lets his eyes fall to my throat and purses his lips, "And I don't think I ever thought I'd see the day that you would choke."

He remains clinical for a moment then, and he cups my chin to tilt my head upward and to the side while carefully running his fingers over my throat before he sighs and shakes his head like he's deep in thought.

"Did you just say you were worried about me?" I ask, somewhat playful and attempting to hide the fact that I really want to know if he is.

"It's not every day that a recluse gets to have his own mongrel as a stray," he aloofly mutters while remaining detached and inexpressive. But I know his humour by now and I decide that he's only joking, knowing that he doesn't like to show that he cares. He fears that it will come across as a sign of weakness no matter how grating and unthinking it is at times. Then he swipes my heavy bangs to the side where it only falls right back to where it was and he snidely adds, "And a dead one at that."

"It could be worse," I mutter, regretting it the moment the words leave my mouth.

But he only nods and darts his eyes away. Then he readjusts himself so that his legs are to his side and supports himself with his left hand, scars running up and down the carelessly exposed part of his forearm. All the while, I try my best not to stare at it, knowing that it's something that I can't get used to. Though my reasons lay more toward guilt than his do even though he insists that it's not my fault.

* * *

"It has nothing to do with you," he once told me, always sensing where my thoughts are even to this day. Then he went on to tell me that it would have made no difference if I'd attempted to use more than the restore materia on him. He told me it was more personal for him than it was for Elena, and I never pressed to ask him why.

"They casted enough cure spells on me to prolong things that it had already started to turn on me long before you arrived."

"So I only made matters worse."

"There was no way you could have known."

Of course his explanation didn't make me feel any better, and all I could do was wonder if I set the last nail in or if it had already been done before I arrived.

According to him though, and whether or not Elena knew it, she was the lucky one.

"They stopped the moment she passed out, laughing at her and deciding that she wasn't worth the trouble… Apparently she was no fun and nothing more than a rookie still."

No fun, he said, and it makes me fall back to when I found him. He was fully clothed. No tears or cuts were in his suit. But blood was soaking through and I never thought anything about it. I was still feeling sore over the fact that they were after Jenova's head and I didn't care enough to want to make sure that he was okay.

Too uncaring, I was, only seeing the Turk and not the man, and only caring about what I could find out for my own gain. But when I look back now, I believe that vengeance is probably a better word for what I was more focused on.

I never asked him about it though, guessing they had stripped him down before beating him, humiliating him by the exposure. But I still can't figure out why they went through the trouble to put his clothes back on when they were done. His tie and jacket were neatly done up, shirt cuffed, buttoned and tucked in, and again, I can't bring myself to ask.

* * *

"You're doing it again," he suddenly says to me, pulling me back to the present and staring at my own scars with an almost condoling look in his eyes.

"Doing what?"

"Wandering."

"Sorry."

Knowing that he's not fond of it, I make an effort to stop and sit up more. Then I pull him closer and place my arm over his shoulder while he snuggles up to me and stares at the floor.

"I'd feel more comfortable if I could find out more about you," he finally says before he strokes his fingers along my chest and walks them across it before appearing bored with the action. Then he returns to holding his sheet more securely and shivers as if he's cold, "Particularly your vulnerabilities."

"You've finally figured that there's a way you might be able to get rid of me?" I ask, dead in tone but meaning for it to come out more teasing instead of the cynical accusation that it sounds like.

He takes no offence at the tone though, knowing that we both have a tendency to come across the wrong way more often than not, and he sighs in defeat and taps me on the chest as a fake comfort.

"Killing you was never my intention, Vince."

Then he pushes himself up and away from me and stretches his back with a held-back groan.

"Nor will it ever be."

_Of course not,_ I sarcastically think. I'm already dead. Then I watch him with an inability to hide my concern as he stands and holds out his hand to help me off the floor. But I don't take it and wind up upsetting him by refusing, mostly because he knows the reason. It has nothing to do with independence or stubbornness on his part though. Instead, it has to do with the fact that during the time I've known him, he hasn't gotten any better, if not worse, and I can't help but wonder if he's deteriorating.

"I'm not going to break if you take my hand," he tells me, the edge slightly hiding behind his even tone as he turns his back to me and walks back into the room while holding his back and proving that he still likes to lie to everyone, including himself.

* * *

When the morning comes, he assumes I'm still asleep and crawls out of the bed and grunts while grasping at his back. Then he throws one of his shoes at me when I try to help him by trying to massage the pain away.

"I don't need your help," he tells me, snidely and grumpily before he straightens up like nothing was bothering him and starts to get ready for the day like he meant it.

Then he makes us both breakfast, and when I try to help with the preparation, he does the same thing that he always does. He pushes me away and tells me that I don't know what I'm doing. According to him, I don't know how to cook and if I really wanted to help, I'd get out of his damn way.

"I burned dinner once," I tell him, feeling angry over the fact that he doesn't let anything rest and knowing the reason at the same time.

He'll shoot himself the day that he can't do anything for himself, and although I'll be there to stop him when and if he tries, letting me do anything for him is telling him that he can't do it himself.

But that's the way that he is though, and he's as likely to change as I am.

"Hm," he suddenly mutters, breaking the silence and stealing me away from my thoughts while we quietly eat breakfast. Then he taps on his watch and quirks his brow before wiping at his mouth with a napkin, and he illegibly mumbles as he gets up, "My watch stopped."

And before I even know what's going on, he's rushing out the door without even saying goodbye.

* * *

The rest of the day is as typical as any other day and I silently help him out by tidying up his home and wondering whether I should stay inside until he comes back. Though there have been times in the past where I've entertained myself by sneaking out and keeping an eye on things from a distance, and it never ceases to amaze me at how alert Tseng's second-in-command is. He always appears to know that something is near that shouldn't be, and I find myself executing extra cautions because of it.

It never surprises me that Tseng is the first person to pick up on Reno's sudden awareness either, and he usually grows sullen the moment that he does, knowing I'm the reason.

"Reno," Tseng calls, holding a case in his hand that I never get the opportunity to see the contents of, "Are you going to stand there all day or will you be joining me?"

"Yeah," he mutters, taking one last cautious look around the outskirts before joining his boss to the facility they set aside for their makeshift science division, hands in his pockets, EMR dangling carelessly from his wrist, and striding like he's taking a walk through the park. It's as closed as the other more private buildings and despite my sharpened senses, I can never hear or see what goes on in there.

I have my guesses though, and I'm assuming it has something to do with the mako residue I've seen Tseng and the other's collect from the old reactors, and assuming it also has something to do with what Reno powers his EMR with, particularly when Tseng often asks, "How's it holding up?" while motioning to his co-workers baton.

But this day is different, Reno's not very talkative this morning and he only grunts his illegible answer out. Then he grunts again when Tseng asks him if it's been fairly stable before Tseng roughly grabs him and slams him into the outside wall of the building, asking him what his problem is.

"I think ya know," is the only response before the redhead retaliates and pushes him away from him so he can straighten up, and naturally my mind wanders to places it shouldn't, fingers unconsciously toying with the handle of my gun and my greater awareness is telling me that I should find something else to entertain myself with before I wind up doing something I'll regret.

"Are you saying that I should be able to read minds?" Tseng coldly asks, insensitive and unfeeling like always before he sneers at Reno and outwardly tells him, "Because if I'm right in my assumptions about why you're behaving the way that you are, I'm not going to apologize."

"'Course not," Reno spits back while Tseng clinically looks him up and down, "Sorry ain't a fuckin word in yer vocabulary."

"That's something a woman would say, Reno," Tseng mockingly tells him before smirking at him and deciding that it's time to enter the building. Then he lowers his voice in hopes that he won't be overheard by anyone in proximity and explains his actions in a manner that almost seems consoling, "You know I won't say anything if you don't give me a reason. Now tuck in your shirt and do up your blazer. You're a disgrace to the outfit."

Reno doesn't do as he suggests though. Instead, he sneers at Tseng's back as he walks ahead and glares at him with a dark look in his eyes while undoing an extra button on his shirt, proving that he's nothing more than a pure nonconformist as they enter the building and he lowly mutters, "I'll show ya a fuckin disgrace."

* * *

It's not the first time that they've gone at each other's throats like that and I doubt it will be the last, considering the nature of those two, and I decide to scout the outskirts after convincing myself that there's nothing to concern myself with. They'll settle down in a day or two—the moment one of them has to side with the other and I can return to being unexplainably agitated over how close they both appear at times.

But until then, I'll do as I always do. I'll bide my time until Tseng's day is over by studying the other people that he works and lives with, like Rufus' personal maid who likes to sneak around with the head of their makeshift weapon's department, or Rufus who acts like he wants something from Reno and then he changes who he seems to be interested in the next day.

Nothing changed within the time I stayed away, except that Elena appears to be showing an interest in somebody other than Tseng for a change. He's a chocobo trainer who's just as private and mysterious as Tseng, only not as cold, and I'm beginning to wonder if it's the mysterious side that she's attracted to since the man bares no physical resemblance to Tseng.

He's more built, not as tall and his hair reminds me of Cid Highwind's, short and unkempt. Though his hair is a darker shade of blonde than Cid's, almost a honey-coloured brown, and his eyes are lighter and more golden than Tseng's, making him appear warmer and more inviting.

"I certainly hope he asks her out," comes Tseng's sudden voice from somewhere behind me, startling me a little and causing me to wonder how he managed to sneak up on me like he did. But I don't ask him. Instead, I only nod in agreement as he sits beside me and rests the small binoculars he was looking through onto his lap, "I see you've found a new perch to watch us from."

"Reno doesn't get as suspicious when I'm this far away," I answer, looking through the thick of the trees and turning my attention to the gold and orange hues reflecting on the trees from the sun setting behind us, and listening to the serenity of the leaves rustling in the slight breeze.

"Hm," he mutters while curling one leg under the other and clenching his jaw as he does it. "Well at this distance, you might as well be in another town." Then he mildly snickers and leans back to get more comfortable, "Tell me what you see."

"Everything," I flatly tell him before turning my attention back to the farm while simultaneously cursing and thanking that fact.

"Sometimes, I'm not certain whether I should envy you or thank the gods that I'm not you."

"Thank the gods."

"Mm," he thoughtfully mumbles while accompanying his silent thoughts with a short nod. Then he brushes a loose hair from my cloak and crookedly smiles at me, almost awkward and flirtatious at the same time, "I'm afraid my eyes aren't as good as they used to be… Not that they were ever as good as yours."

"I'd like it if I could only see what you see," I tell him, wondering if he understands that I see more than what's in front of me and more than I want to see at times, and wondering if he understands how envious I am of those that grow old, or how I fear that I might be trapped in this world forever, an eternal limbo where everyone and everything that I care about eventually fades.

"Hm," he mutters again before he lays back, elevates his knees and stares at the sky to watch the clouds, or just the bare blue that hosts them like distant shores of white sand with a warm glow blanketing over it.

"But then you wouldn't be able to tell me what you see," he says, almost sighing and placing his hand under the back of his head.

I only nod before sitting more forward and leaving Tseng to admire the vast dome above us, and I take a more focussed look around until I see something that seems peculiar.

"I see…" I start, before my brows knit together with a mind of their own and I suddenly wonder if I'm seeing things as clearly as I think I am, "Reno sneaking up to Rufus' back door."

"Seriously?" he asks, not believing me and requesting in his own way that I attempt to quit playing around.

"No," I mutter, and I tilt my head forward, "I'm serious."

And at that, he sits up as if rising from a coffin and lifts his binoculars to his eyes so he can see for himself, "What the hell is he doing?"

"Knocking," I say, knowing he can see it for himself but feeling strangely entranced at the moment and wondering why.

"I can see that."

"Then don't ask."

"Leviathan…" Tseng mumbles with a misplaced snicker while sitting more forward as if he needs to lean in closer to see better, "Why is he being so secretive?"

I don't know. Nor do I really want to know, and I find myself hoping that Reno is just being the common queer and trouble-making vagrant that he usually is, or that Rufus merely doesn't like people using his front door. Of course, I also doubt both as I watch Rufus answer to the redhead and lean against the frame in his usual quirky way, almost provocative like he does with Tseng while Reno pulls something out of his pocket and sports a cheese-eating grin like he's got something of superfluous value to show him.

"I was hoping you wouldn't forget," I hear Rufus say to him as he steps out of the way to walk back into his house while Reno follows and starts to squirm out of his blazer as if he can't wait to take it off. Though it's almost hard to make out what they're saying at this distance. But their volume is fair enough until the door closes. Then neither of us can see nor hear what they're saying or doing and I suddenly wonder if I should be thankful for that.

"Hm," Tseng mutters as he returns to lying on the ground and stares at the sky again, slightly darker than it was before he got up. Then he sighs as if he's bored, or it would probably be more accurate to say that he's already seen enough in his day to not be affected by much of anything anymore, and he calmly states his thoughts, or lack of them in an oddly serene manner. "That was odd."

_Yes, _I think, still staring at Rufus' house and ignoring Elena who's flirting with the chocobo trainer again, and Rude who's on his way to work off some steam in their makeshift training facility. It's only routine for him and none of it seems as curious as watching what may or may not transpire from something that could be nothing more than ordinary.

But Tseng seems to have lost interest in what's going on or not going on and he bends his knee while keeping the other one straight. Then he pulls a hard candy from his pocket to keep his cravings at bay and mutters, "I've booked a couple of weeks off."

"Where are you going?" I ask, still fixated on the same spot while the strong scent of strawberry escapes from the package that he opens.

"_We_ are going to Nibelheim," he answers. "You, and I."

"What for?" I flatly ask, hoping that he's still not fixated on the thought that there's something curably wrong with me. Though I doubt it at the same time and I consider his stubborn and obstinate nature and the fact that nothing ever goes my way when it involves a decision he's made.

"I want to go over the records I found there again," he says, "and I want you to go through them with me."

"There's nothing wrong with me."

"I'm not going to argue with you about it," he states in a tone that can't be argued with. Then he sighs and sounds agitated when he adds, "People don't choke for no reason."

_People_, I sarcastically think, _probably don't,_ before I add to the thought that there was a reason for it. But the only problem is that I can't tell him about it because I know that he doesn't want to hear it. He'd accuse me of being harebrained and superstitious again like he's done every other time that I've brought it up.

Then he breaks my thoughts by also saying, "Then I'm going to Wutai to see my mother."

"Wutai," I mutter as if it's not really registering and I continue to stare through the windows of Rufus' house as shadows of the two of them move around from the living room to the kitchen and then back to the living room where they've been for a while now. Nothing seems abnormal about their movements or actions though, nothing suspicious either. It's as if they're only friends paying a visit to the other and I have no idea why I'd expect otherwise.

"Yes. But you can't come with me."

"I didn't think that I could," I lifelessly respond, figuring that my presence was no longer welcome around her the moment I slept with her son, and knowing how much the idea of her even suspecting what he does behind closed doors causes him a great deal of stress. But I can't help but wonder if she does suspect something, being his mother, and I also can't help but wonder how in the hell she has no idea that he's a Turk either.

I suppose it's all irrelevant though as the shadows of Reno and Rufus make their way over to a window and they both sit down opposite to the other at a small table and Rufus opens the window for fresh air, and Reno gets up and closes it on him. Then Rufus gets up and opens it again, this time, telling the redhead to leave it the hell alone or he'll shoot him somewhere where it matters.

"Whatever," Reno defiantly responds, being as disrespectful as he always is before he kicks the foot of the table and calls Rufus a spoiled little bitch.

"Hm," I mutter, not meaning to but muttering it just the same.

"What?"

"They're playing cards," I say before I lean back and stare at the fading light of the sky reflected from Tseng's face. "Then later, they're going to play chess."

"I had no idea Rufus played cards," he says, still sounding bored and staring upward. Then he snickers and turns to me with a sly grin, "But then again, I had no idea that Reno played chess."

"I guess that's why they're keeping it a secret," I sarcastically add before I lie down beside him and stare at the same sky, wondering if there's a chance in hell that I can get out of going back to the mansion at Nibelheim.


	24. Obstacles

**Obstacles**

* * *

_"Hm-hm…"_

_She giggles, softly and not with me when I first meet her and go to shake her hand. She wasn't what I was expecting and I almost rush, failing to notice the cord I nearly tripped over. _

_"Vincent," I tell her as she shyly responds and takes my hand with a passive touch before replying, "Lucrecia."_

_"You're not what I was expecting," she says, almost blushing while I respond with the same observation. She was younger than I thought she would be and more attractive too. She had long legs, long brown hair that was shiny and pulled into a high ponytail with a thick blue cotton tie that looked as fresh as the summer sky, and she had a beautiful smile that could charm a savage Bahamut._

But it's strange when I look away and look back, she looks different. She's almost aquatic, iridescent and wearing the colour of aqua, all sheer and I wonder if it's from the mako prison I last saw her in. I tried to save her and even though she says that she's the one who's sorry, the look in her eyes is accusatory and I wind up saying what I always say.

"I'm sorry."

Then like most of my other dreams, she turns decrepit and points a skeletal finger at me, and what's even stranger is what she calls me. Her voice is as decrepit as her appearance and her eyes are colourless and fading when she says it. Though, the look that she carries is one of repulsion.

"Chaos."

_"Wake up, Vince."_

* * *

"Hm?" I mumble as my eyes open and take a moment to adjust.

"I said, 'wake up'," he repeats before he frustratingly shakes his head and roughly nudges me. "You sleep like the dead."

The dead, I muse, ironically and sarcastically before I turn my head to watch him force himself out of bed while pretending that he's not in any pain. Then he finds his robe and immediately hides himself from my guilt-ridden eyes and to tell him that he doesn't need to hide from me only becomes redundant.

Though I still feel the need to constantly say it. Maybe it's just hope that makes me think I can make him feel good about himself again. But I don't say it this morning. Knowing that his plans involve me today almost makes up for anything benevolent that I might want to do or say.

None of that will change what his plans pertain to anyway and none of it will change the fact that they'll get neither of us anywhere.

"Get dressed," he orders as he walks into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

"Yes, Master," I sarcastically mutter, low enough that he doesn't hear it and I stretch over the edge of the bed to look for my pants with images of Lucrecia still fresh in my mind. There was something disturbing about it and I begin to wonder if I'd had the dream before.

I can't seem to recall though, and I lazily push myself up and pull my pants from under the bed with my foot and think of how Tseng picks his clothes up with his toes sometimes. Only I don't have the same flexibility as him, nor do I even know how to grab onto things the way that he does. Not that it matters though. I can just as easily pick them up with my hands.

So I do.

And while I take my time, tiredly looking around for the rest of my clothes, I can hear him running a quick shower that is part of his morning routine. He'll shave next. Then he'll put on his aftershave and lastly his cologne. After that, he'll tend to odd bits and ends and come out as if he's a new man before making whatever spontaneous breakfast he's in the mood for. His taste is the only thing that he has no routine for.

Food, to Tseng, is never planned as much as it's looked forward to and his taste changes from one day to the next, reminiscent of his moods if not always reflecting them.

There is one thing that he never waivers from though, and that's his tea, and since it's the one thing that I know he'll trust me to do right, I decide to go ahead and get the water ready for him.

* * *

The rest of the morning is as routine as everything else despite the fact that he's in the mood for fruit this morning and leftovers from the chocobo he cooked a couple of days ago. But he still encourages me to eat and he still throws the odd disapproving glance at my hair and my cloak.

"You'd look good in a suit," he tells me when he starts to clean up and I simply mutter back, "I used to wear one."

I also used to have short hair and I used to take care of myself. Though I'll admit that I at least make the effort to keep my belongings clean since I've met him.

"Yes," he agrees before detachedly adding, "and you looked very handsome."

_Looked…_

It's always past-tense when he refers to something that he likes about my appearance—never the present. I ignore it though, still convinced that there isn't any point to going out of my way to be the man that I used to be, or even trying to look like something that resembles him. It's not possible anyway. Even if I managed to dig up a small piece of who I used to be on the inside, I still wouldn't be him anymore.

He must have picked up on where I wandered off to though because he doesn't say anything after that and stiffens slightly before grabbing a few bags that he packed the night before and urging me to sneak out before it gets light and to meet him at Nibelheim.

"Make sure no one sees you," he tells me, like the reminder is necessary and I nod while he continues to tell me where he'll be staying, when he'll get there, and exactly where he expects me to meet him.

"Oh… and, Vince," he says right before I'm about to leave and causing me to stiffen over what he feels the need to remind me about now. But he surprises me, somewhat. He pulls me back by the shoulder and turns me toward him with a playful and caring touch and says, "don't get into any trouble."

_Trouble,_ I think, wondering why he always feels the need to say that but knowing just the same. Then he places the palm of his hand at the back of my neck and pulls me down slightly, and he places a quick and non-obtrusive kiss on my lips before muttering while placing some gil in my hand, "I trust you'll be there before nightfall?"

After that, he turns and walks out the front door, putting on the act that everything in his life is ordinary. He's not having an affair with anyone and he sure as hell isn't hiding any monsters in his closets, under his bed, or anywhere else that he might be able to fit them or shove them into. He keeps the curtains closed because everyone annoys him and he never opens his windows because he's convinced that the insects have discovered weak points in his screens…

That's what he tells everyone and as crazy as what he says sounds, he believes that it's better than telling them the truth—that he's not only hiding a monster, but he's sleeping with one too.

* * *

From there, we split up and take different routes. Though I'm reluctant to go the moment I hear Reno make the first truce between them by offering to take Tseng to the Junon pier by helicopter, and Tseng accepts. I almost turn around and follow them, fighting whatever it is inside that suddenly makes me want to erase the redhead from existence.

"I'll fly ya there… it's faster."

"That eager to get rid of me?"

"Nah… jus figured ya'd be more comfortable travellin in luxury."

"With the way you fly?"

"Heh… yeah… well… It'll give us enough time ta make amends when I drop ya off with time ta spare. Ya know?"

"No I don't."

"Grab a bite?"

With a nod, Tseng smiles and I almost don't realize the quickening pace I'm suddenly walking in toward their direction before I stop myself and take my hand away from the handle of the gun. I can trust him, I tell myself as he follows Reno into the hangar while I attempt to reason with whatever part of me that can't be reasoned with and I force myself to slowly step back and return to the concealment of the woods.

Unfortunately though, I can't trust Reno as well as I can trust Tseng. He's even more conniving and underhanded than he is and capable of almost anything as far as I'm concerned. And to make matters worse, I have no idea what the hell he wants, is up to, or is even after while my concerns grow the moment he places his arm across Tseng's shoulder, strokes it with his thumb in a way that Tseng doesn't notice or pretends not to, and he briefly glances in my direction with narrowed eyes and a conniving grin before he sticks his tongue between his teeth like he knows I'm here.

As a result, my hand is on my gun again and whatever is boiling up inside of me is about to explode if I don't find a way to calm myself down, and I step back again, fighting the urge not to release a destructive spell into the hangar that could wind up harming them both.

* * *

Luckily for them, my better senses win and I manage to find a few vagrants on the way to Junon to keep me occupied. They're mostly thieves and petty criminals. But at least I manage to save a few innocents from losing their belongings and during the moments in between, I continuously manage to tell myself that I'm overreacting to Reno. There's nothing to worry about.

He's just trying to get under my skin, lure me into the opening just like Tseng says…

* * *

By the time I make it to Junon, Tseng and Reno are already walking out of the diner that he seems to have taken a liking to and he's bowing his regards to Reno as the redhead makes his way back to the Junon Helipad. Of course he doesn't fail to inconspicuously sweep his eyes over the redhead's chest, and he doesn't fail to cover it up by adding in a disapproving tone as he speaks, "Do your shirt up."

"Nah," Reno responds while smiling crookedly at him and walking backwards so there's more of him to see. Then he teasingly adds, "I think ya like it undone."

All Tseng does though is quirk his brow before he subtly shakes his head, waves his hand dismissively at him and turns around to start walking to the pier while calling behind him, "Thanks for the ride."

"Any time, Boss," the redheaded snake replies. Then he salutes him and turns on those wiry legs of his to lazily head back to the chopper with a complacent grin on his face.

_Doesn't like you my ass_, I think, not even bothering to wonder where the thought comes from and not even noticing that I've already got my gun aimed at the window of the chopper until it's too late. The bang is the only thing that takes me by surprise and it causes me to unconsciously recoil. I didn't even realize that I'd pulled the trigger until I heard it and Reno didn't appear to hear it either. The helicopter makes enough noise on its own and he already has the headset on.

But there's a part of me that feels good about it if not an alien part that doesn't seem to fit into the scheme of things, and all the while another part of me is still cringing over the fact that the bullet would have gone straight between his eyes if it wasn't for the damn chopper having bullet-proof glass. He would have noticed the ricochet too if it wasn't for him dropping something onto the floor of the chopper at the last minute and reaching down to grab it.

He did hear something though, the obvious sign is him sitting back up with a bit of a jolt and muttering, "hm?" before he leans forward and cocks his head to look up at the spinning blades to make sure something didn't hit them. Then he looks around to see if something did that might have bounced off to hit something else. He sees nothing though, and he carelessly shrugs before sticking a toothpick in his mouth to chew on and lifts off like there's nothing of concern.

Lucky or not for either of us, I'm not sure. Though I admit that I'm thankful that he didn't notice and that no one else was paying attention either because the first person he probably would have contacted would have been Tseng. And I suppose I should be thankful that I didn't kill him either since Tseng most-likely has me at the top of his list for suspects, regardless of whether or not they have any other enemies that are trying to kill them.

From there, I stay in the woods and nearly get myself torn up by a group of angry cappawires that sneak up behind me after I disturb their ground. That's not all though. Because the moment one of them wraps their long leafy wire-like arms around my neck, yanks me backwards off my heels and the others close in with their short wood-stump-like bodies to commence on their wire attacks that resemble nothing less than a lashing, a nearby formula passes overhead, violet, featherless, and more than half the size of an adult human.

_These things are getting smarter,_ I think, while hoping the formula just passes as I continue to try to use whatever defence I can. But they seem to jolt me with grand sparks whenever I reach for my gun and as if that's not enough, the formula catches the commotion below and probably assumes there's a meal on its way due to its scavenging nature, and it decides to help the cappawires by swooping, slashing me across the chest with its sharp beak, deep purple, almost black, and then it hits me with a cross impulse to compliment the grand sparks from the cappawires.

By this point, the gun no longer matters. They've torn me up enough that another danger threatens us all and I can feel it boiling up inside of me, frustration spreading like a wild fire in my veins and anxiety building into a hardened ball of iron in my gut.

I remind myself that this is my penance for all the wrongs I've done in my life and all the things I never attempted to stop or correct, and I deserve the chaos that accompanies it.

"GRAAARRRGGGHHH!"

* * *

By the time the turmoil outside of Junon ends, everything that attacked me is either dead or heavily wounded and I'm no worse for wear. Whether I should thank Chaos' desire to protect its host, or curse it, my body healed like it always does and like always, I only remember fragments of what transpired. I can't say that I don't regret that part though because I'm not sure if I really want to recall everything that Chaos does.

* * *

From there, I figure I managed to waste enough time for Tseng to catch the first ship and I commence to catch the second one with the Gil he gave to me while hoping he's not on it since I know that he would panic if I got on the same one as him. Although panicking is more of an inward state for Tseng than an outward one, but I would still know and it would still contribute to the hovering guilt that I always feel regarding everything I do around him.

* * *

The next stop is Costa Del Sol. From there, I make a brief trip to the bakery even though I assume he's already gone out of his way to grab his favourite sweets already. But there's a high chance he would have eaten it all on his way to Nibelheim since he finds the trip boring if he's not being flown and he has a tendency to eat when he's bored. Not to mention that a strange part of me is hoping the gift will make up for the delay, especially when I run into a beach plug after trying to save a little girl from drowning near the beach.

Luckily for everyone involved though, including myself, Chaos doesn't make an appearance this time. But I do manage to get the situation under control quickly and by attracting the attention of nearly everyone while bullets fly from my gun after I suffer a nasty bite on my leg that stings like a…

"Are you all right?" is the most typical question that everyone asks me as I keep my head down, place the girl safely on the ground and mutter, "yes," before trying to get away as quickly as possible.

But unfortunately, as the fates would have it, I'm not going to get away as fast as I would have liked because when I'm about to find transportation on the outskirts of town, a mature grangalan appears out of nowhere and starts duplicating itself into smaller egg-shaped clones of itself.

Well, at least it can only go three sizes smaller, I think to myself, as one of its silver wheels slice across my left bicep when its third and smallest duplication appears. Then I clench my jaw, lower my head, and I begin firing like I'm beginning to get tired of all the random attacks, and not only that, I'm beginning to wonder if it's some kind of sign.

* * *

By the time I arrive in Nibelheim, as surprising as it is at this point due to the pack of Nibel Wolves that attack me the moment I get close to town, I find Tseng standing near the mansion. He's standing at the side and in its shadows and he looks impatient while letting out a sigh as I circle around to watch him from a distance for a moment.

Then he looks at his watch and taps on it before looking up at the night falling upon the skies, leaving nothing but a soft pink glow near the horizon, and he shakes his head as if he's not surprised by my absence. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that he looks like he expected no less.

He's wondering what's taking me so long, I'm sure. But at this point, I only want to watch him from afar for a while as he straightens his suit, brushes his hair behind his ear with his finger, and then he walks to the back of the mansion to sit on a ledge where it's private.

He pulls out his phone then, and I frown, hoping it's not Reno before I hear him say, "Mother?" with a look of relief on his face that slowly turns into something complacent.

At this point, I was almost ready to go to him out of some strange impulse that I can't explain. But I decide I'll wait a little longer while he asks her how she's doing and tells her he'll be seeing her next week while he unconsciously toys with his locket and continues with the usual assurances toward a mother that he thinks worries too much about him.

It's justified though, I think to myself, whether she knows what he's been through or not, and maybe it's instinctual.

* * *

However, knowing that he's capable of talking to her for hours, I finally decide to make my way down to him where I sit quietly beside him while he continues to talk to her and journeys through his typical path of mood-swings that he generally suffers from when he speaks with her. The only acknowledgement he offers me during that time is to quickly place the locket he was fiddling with back into his pocket when he first sees me, although I know about it, and to playfully nudge my arm with his elbow before leaning onto me and trying to cut the call short.

Then he grumbles under his breath after he hangs up about how much he wishes she would quit bothering him to find a girlfriend.

"I could always wear a dress," I say, jokingly, but flat as usual before he stands and turns to run his austere eyes over me like he's not even willing to contemplate it.

"Don't be ridiculous—you're far too homely to pull it off," he tells me before he starts to walk to the back door and waves his hand for me to follow while barely moving it from his side.

Homely as a woman or homely as a man? I suddenly wonder, before I wonder why I'm concerned about something I've never been concerned about before.

Then when we get to the door, he stops and turns around to run his eyes over me again, focussing on all the tears in my clothes before he shakes his head at me and turns back around to unlock it while muttering under his breath, "I could have sworn I told you to be careful."

"I was," I tell him, knowing full-well that he isn't going to believe me if I tell him the truth, and the sarcastic snort that follows only adds concrete to the thought.

"I see," he muses with a slight smile when he hears the old locks to the mansion's back door click. Then he mockingly concludes that, "You're simply wearing an older outfit."

* * *

I don't bother answering him when he nods as if he's feigning a confirmation to his remark, and instead I follow behind him as he quietly steps onto the creaking floor of the old and unused kitchen that used to be immaculate at one time. It's nothing but rotting wood and broken tiles now, accompanied by layers of caking dust and cobwebs.

But I remember it like it was yesterday, along with the ghosts that reside here—echoes from the past…

* * *

"_Lucrecia!" I yelled, startled when she flung the cream from her dessert at me. She used to sneak into the kitchen and she thought she'd turn it into a game when I caught her, giggling and stepping back with her hand over her mouth as if she was reconsidering what she just did._

_But she wasn't expecting me to retaliate by doing the same, unexpectedly turning it into a playful game._

"_Hapf!" she exclaimed, with cream running down the front of her dress and her hands over her mouth before she disbelievingly bent forward in surprise, "Vince…! You didn't!"_

_Then she ran, playfully initiating the chase while dipping her hand into the dessert again as she circled the table and flung another handful at me._

_I caught her though, grabbing her by the waist before pulling her down while we both laughed and tumbled to the floor. But none of it was before she managed to lightly slap another handful into my face, which I wiped off and flung back at her._

_I knew I was falling in love with her. I knew it from the moment I first saw her. But I never had the courage to tell her… not then…_

_She was the only one that ever called me Vince…_

* * *

"It's a shame they let this place go," Tseng quietly muses, stepping toward the door at the other end and not noticing that I'd mentally left him. Then he turns around and blankly stares at me while I stare into empty space while holding the chain around my neck.

He doesn't say anything about it though. He only straightens up, probably knowing where I've gone, and then he returns to being as stoic as he usually is when he's trying to pretend that nothing bothers him. After that, he turns and quietly nods while continuing to walk to the other door.

"Perhaps we should go straight to the labs."

"Sorry," I mutter, realizing what I was holding and how I was looking while he coldly walks ahead with no sign of being offended and quietly says, like air, "there's nothing to apologize for, Vince."

* * *

Once we leave the old kitchen, he leads the way to the second floor and I follow quietly behind while fleeting through pleasant and unpleasant memories. Nearly every inch of this place takes me somewhere, and Tseng doesn't falter for a moment as he continues to walk through the ghosts like air, almost like he's part of them or a guide that anchors me and escorts me through the memories.

But he doesn't say a word and he doesn't stop when I stop. He doesn't look back either, and I wonder if it's only because he doesn't want to see me holding the chain again, or maybe he just doesn't want to hear me say something that he doesn't care to hear.

Instead, he takes care of the more tangent ghosts that he stirs, the monsters that lurk in the shadows—the ones that are real, and he doesn't wait or even ask for my help as he finishes them off. All the while, I follow behind him and step over what's left from his deadly and accurate aim.

I can only wonder if I've upset him somehow and I can only wish that he'd show it if I did. But I can't bring myself to ask as another memory of Lucrecia floods my mind and I struggle with which one of them I could possibly betray more by my thoughts.

* * *

When we get to the second floor and he makes his way to the door leading to the lower labs, he stops and merely studies it. He's expressionless while he runs his fingers over a crack in the door, almost resembling a slash before he clinically says, "That's from Seph's blade."

Then he opens the door and starts to walk down the stairs while I take a moment to stare at the scar left upon the solid and reinforced wood, wondering if he said it more as a way to get back at me for my silent musings or if he was only stating a fact.

Maybe it's a bit of both, I wonder, suddenly feeling even more guilty over nothing and jealous of nothing for any practical reason. Then I run my own finger along the groove and decide to catch up to Tseng who's already made it halfway down the stairs and still moving like his only purpose is to lure me and keep me going.

The enchantment ends though.

It ends the moment we enter the main corridors made of crumbling brick and stone, and it leaves me little time to fall into the image of how it used to be down here, cavernous, when the bullets from Tseng's gun aren't enough to take down the Ying/Yang that suddenly blocks our path and he gets slammed into the wall while letting out a pained grunt.

Instead of saying anything though, I wind up growling like an animal. Then I pull out my own gun and put myself between Tseng and the creature, protecting my territory while Tseng pulls out his blades and helps me out while telling me that he doesn't need me as a shield and that he was doing just fine on his own.

_Sure you were,_ I sarcastically think when the creature finally falls and Tseng limps to my side while pulling a potion out of his pocket. Then he takes a drink, wipes at his mouth, and stares down at the creature in mimicry of my own stance.

"So," he says, like tin as he puts the bottle back in his pocket and continues on his journey to the lab, walking ahead and ignoring me like I'm not even here as he speaks to me, "I guess the next time I want your attention, I'll just throw myself in harm's way."

"Snide bastard," I mutter, so low that he can't hear it while I sneer at him although I feel like I deserve it anyway. Then I check the bullets in my gun and reload it before placing it back in my holster and following him to nothing more than the place where I originally met my demise.


	25. What Lurks in the Shadows

**What Lurks in the Shadows**

* * *

**Sorry for the long wait. I've been busier than usual for the last little while. Also, for some strange reason, it took several re-edits of this chapter in order for me somewhat close to happy with it which caused me to hold it back for a lot longer than I normally would.**

* * *

We spent hours going through all the same records and all the same charts we've already gone through before, and I begin to wonder if I should save him the trouble by telling him the real reason I appeared to be choking. But I can't seem to bring myself to say it since I know damned well that the moment the words leave my mouth there's going to be some sort of verbal attack in regard to my superstitious and irrational behaviour.

So instead, I humour him, half-paying attention and half not to everything I pick up with disinterest. Whether it's the reminders that add to my lack of desire though, I'm not sure, and the only thing that breaks my train of thought is when Tseng flings an old photo of Lucrecia at me and snidely comments on her looks.

"Obviously, Seph took after her."

Then he smirks with no genuine attempt to hide the sarcastic bite to his thoughts when he turns around and gauges me, studying me like he always does with those cold and austere eyes.

But he's strangely curious at the same time as his eyes run over me like there's more going on in his head than he's willing to discuss. They settle near the top of my head, unkempt hair and a stained headscarf before they move down to my shoulders where his head slightly tilts and his eyes wander down to my torso, continuing on their slow journey toward my feet. Then he just stands there, staring at the golden armour and contemplating something unknown to me.

All the while, I wonder if I even want to ask while I stand there, motionless, and I let him study me with a strange mixture of fluctuating light behind his eyes. Then the moment passes and he suddenly lets me know a good portion of what was going through his mind, if not all of it at that moment.

"Did you sleep with her?"

He asks it like a doctor would ask a patient where the ache is, clinical and outright, no emotion suggests that it's anything more than curiosity. Though I highly suspect where the curiosity comes from when his attention is drawn to the photo that he carelessly flung at me and something unknown knots up inside of me, tight, before I growl at him like a defensive animal, "Don't go there."

Then I turn around with a swift movement that sends my cloak trailing behind me like a solemn wave, knowing full-well what he's getting at and I open the door to the lab while figuring that there's nothing left to look at in the library before I stiffen at his next choice of words.

"Is that denial speaking?"

Denial, I think, while cynically musing that he would know all about that. After which, I quickly shake the thought and walk into the other room and let the door close behind me, suddenly not caring whether he follows or not and immediately, I'm assaulted with a memory that has nothing to do with the lab in which I'm standing.

* * *

"_I made a mistake," she told me, almost frantically as tears stained her cheeks when she found me in my room and clumsily ran to the foot of my bed after she startled me from my sleep._

"_Lucrecia…? What's wrong?"_

"_I never should have married him!"_"

* * *

"Well, if you think about it, he certainly didn't look like his father," Tseng mutters behind me as the door opens and he follows me in, not paying any mind to my commonly absent thoughts. Then he snickers at the thought, making me wonder if he's only entertaining the idea instead of believing it, and he walks over to one of the consoles before turning it on.

"In fact, there's no resemblance at all."

"Shut up!" I growl while walking over to an old filing cabinet and pulling out the records I know pertain to what was done to me in hopes of escaping from the current and one-sided conversation. After that, I shake my head while keeping it lowered, realizing that I didn't need to react the way that I did and making him realize that he's striking a nerve while I mutter in a more passive attempt to end his excessively analytical speculation.

"She was married."

But even that comes out in the semblance of depressed thoughts and Tseng straightens up again, stoic, and probably reminding himself that we couldn't be more wrong for each other while I assume he's reading more into my tone than I'm wanting him to.

"Sorry."

* * *

"_I'm pregnant," she told me when she found me outside of the lab as I was walking by._

_But all I did was scrunch my shoulders as I sourly muttered with my head down, "Congratulations."_

_She must have sensed my sudden change of mood though, and she was about to say something I believe was concerning it. But whatever it might have been was cut off by Hojo when he found us as he approached from the other end of the hall. _

_"Ah! Vincent!" he exclaimed in that unnaturally pitched voice that sounded like nails on a chalkboard while pretending to be happy to see me for a change. Then he pulled Lucrecia away from me to make her stand beside him by roughly grabbing her arm. _

_"Have you heard the good news…? I'm going to be a father."_

* * *

"Well, I'm afraid that argument doesn't work very well," Tseng muses while curling his finger over his upper lip before he steps away from the console, snickering, and he stands over the drainage grate near the examination tables, "Considering I've had my fair share of being on the home-wrecker's side."

"I'm not his father," I flatly tell him, convinced that even if the child was mine to begin with that it died the moment Lucrecia and Hojo decided to agree on their twisted project. Then I open the file and flip through pages that I've already flipped through more than a dozen times in the past and ignore Tseng's hand when it goes into his pocket to toy with his locket while he quietly contemplates something.

"These records were erased," he mutters before I look up and he motions toward the console with a disappointed expression. "What I found before is gone now."

"What did you find?"

"Information about the Chaos experiment… and the stagnant Lifestream," he says, sounding retired before his hand fiddles with the locket and he stops, realizing what he was mindlessly doing. Then he lets out a heavy breath and leans against the table, "Most of it was Hojo's observations."

"Hojo's…" I repeat while noting that the papers I'm going through are all Hojo's as well. It's something that's always bothered me since I know Lucrecia kept her own records. But I could never find them.

"I can't say this sits easy with me," he admits before he slowly shakes his head with his back to me. "This isn't the first time records have disappeared on me since Icicle Inn."

"What records?" I ask, suddenly curious about what he's been finding.

"Mostly irrelevant things," he says while shrugging and crossing his arms like he's ready to take a break from being the professional Turk that he usually is. "Stagnant Lifestreams… Tainted Lifestreams…"

Then he takes a moment to ironically snicker before adding with a wry tone to his voice, "Tainted materia… Something called Project T…"

"T," I respond, not knowing why it's caught my attention as I relax my arms at my sides while still hanging onto the folder.

"Mm," he mutters before curling his finger over his mouth again and shaking his head in thought, "that was about all I found though, I'm afraid."

"What's that?"

"That there was an experiment called Project T that appeared to have been abandoned. Other than that, I have no idea what it's about."

"There must have been something in the records."

With another shake to his head, he straightens up and sighs, "No." Then he smoothes his hair back and shakes out his leg like its bothering him, "There was only one sentence… Something about a success of something or other…"

"More Jenova," I mindlessly think before I put the file back and wonder why I'm uncomfortable at the mention of it.

"Yes," he says, like there's no doubt in his mind that it was exactly what he read. Then he shrugs his shoulders and tells me that, "The rest looked like it was either never entered or erased."

I only muse over it though, not commenting about it and staring at the rest of the files while wondering if I should even bother to look through any more of them again while I figure that the records Tseng's referring to were probably "Erased."

"It was," he says before I turn around in confusion and stare at him, not realizing that I said it out loud.

"What was?"

"The record," he answers with a slight hint of agitation over the questions I'm asking when he thinks I should be well-aware of what he's talking about.

"The second time I went to the lab it was gone. I only remembered it because it was only one sentence."

Then he moves forward and stands on the drainage grate again, staring at the files near the console he was at while lowering his voice in thought, "It was when I first noticed files were disappearing."

I can't help but want to suggest that Rufus or Reno might be behind it. But I'm sure it's not the best of ideas to bring up something that I know he'll view as vindictive on my part and I'm also not sure that it could be them either, considering there are plenty of others out there that probably have more of a motive to erase Shinra's records than those that are trying to keep them preserved and hidden.

So instead, I ask, "Do the others know?"

"Hm?" he asks while scraping the bottom of his shoe over the grate and staring into the empty depth of it. Then he looks up at me with a dull revelation, "How did you know it was Jeno –?"

"Tseng!"

At that very moment, the grate gives way as Tseng grabs under the table beside him to steady himself so he can check the bottom of his shoe. As he falls through, he mercilessly hits his chin on the floor and I cringe at the sound of a snap when he lands after I instinctively try to grab him before he falls. But I'm too late.

"Tseng!"

_Kjata... _

The blood on the concrete where he hit his chin freezes me for a moment and I hesitate with a lump in my throat before I grip over the edge to try to see if he's okay, almost panicking over a sudden feeling of loss that I can't seem to reason out right now.

But he's unconscious and can't respond, and there's a trail of blood running from his mouth before he starts to slowly sink under the water he's fallen into after hitting the path to the side, and for some unexplainable reason, all I can focus on is his hair as it flows outward like tendrils… like black fingers… beckoning… serenely waving…

"_Chaos…"_

His skin is as pale as moonlight, more striking than usual while darkening swirls flow from his wounds and he sinks farther into the blackish water.

"No!" I growl before I automatically jump down without thinking, "I'm not losing you again!"

"_What have you done to me!"_

Or… should I have said… too?

* * *

I nearly glide through the air when I jump down to save him, realizing that I'm only half in control of myself as I yank his unconscious body out of the water like a precious possession that I can't afford to lose. It's an odd sensation that I'm feeling though, something inside of me feels split, like Chaos is in as much control as I am while I brush the wet strands from his face and worry less about the unnatural way his arm is bent than I do about whether he's breathing or not.

But he is and I take a moment to simply hold him in relief while I pay no mind to the grate slowly closing above us as if it's mechanically triggered and is locking us in.

"Kjata," I mutter before I lay him on the soiled pathway and decide to take his unconscious state as a blessing while I take advantage of the opportunity to reset his arm. The sound causes me to cringe again, despite the lack of response I receive.

Then I check the back of his head, hoping that the impact when he fell isn't serious as I pull his gloves out of his pocket and replace my own with them. All the while, I hope that I don't wind up being pulled through the window of his past again while I do it.

But it almost seems like it can't be avoided, and it happens nearly every time he's unconscious.

"Angel Whisper," I mutter before I lean down to kiss him on the forehead, hoping he'll be all right while I feel the tug of whatever it is that we unwillingly share.

* * *

"Tonberry…"

Sephiroth always calls him that, every time and for some reason, it always catches my attention. But it's not what catches my attention this time. It's what he says when Tseng is sleeping that I find digging under my skin.

"You have no idea how much I love you."

He looks upward when he whispers it as if he's confiding to the Gods before he awakens his lover and starts to explore him with a disturbing gentleness, and I try to turn my head away only to discover that I can't.

"You like this, don't you…"

"No," I answer, not even sure of why I'm answering but knowing I'd rather be anywhere else instead of watching him touch and manipulate Tseng in a way that starts a fire burning within me.

"Oh… I think you do," he threateningly purrs, almost in my ear while I shiver at the feel of something moving over my shoulder, "You like to watch him… You think you can learn how to control him by watching."

"No."

"Hm… Well, I hope you're dressed appropriately," he confusingly taunts before I feel his presence move away and his voice grows more distant.

"Because you won't be able to keep him forever."

And the next thing I know, snow starts to fall and the sound of violent winds surround me, and I see Tseng, alive this time but with blood staining the front of his shirt from a bullet wound as he stumbles while hanging onto his gun, growing weaker from the cold.

Then he tries to aim it at me and frantically yells like he sees me as a threat, "Stay away from me, Vincent!"

But he's unable to pull back the safety as I feel myself walking toward him, almost predatorily, gun in my hand and barrel still warm as he drops his own because he's unable to hold it with frozen hands while he clumsily steps backward and falls.

"No…"

* * *

There may have been more and whether I'm relieved or disappointed about seeing the outcome eludes me as a powerful blow strikes me back to the present, and Tseng's bewildered voice demands, "What the hell is the matter with you?"

_What?_ is all I can think of for a moment before I realize that I must have been kissing him if not attempting to go further while he was unconscious and I was someplace else, "I…"

"Never mind," he mutters like he's reconsidering whether he wants an explanation and would have expected no less from my unorthodox behaviour anyway. Then he roles his eyes to try to gain better focus while deciding that he'd rather ask, "What happened?"

Instead of answering him though, I only stare into space, still trying to work out his first question more for myself than for him, and the best I can come up with is, _What the hell 'was' I doing?_

But before I can give it much more thought, Tseng's agitated sigh pulls me out of my thoughts and my focus returns to him. Then I stroke his hair back and realize I've just made the mistake of letting him see that I'm wearing his gloves.

After that, he does what he always does—he demands that I take them off and I do as he demands like I always do while half-ignoring him and half-paying attention.

Then I tell him through clenched teeth that, "You fell through the grate."

"Through?" he asks before he looks up and winces when he tries to move his arm.

"It's not broken," he says, not fully understanding due to the blow to his head even though he tries to understand how he could fall through a solid grate without it breaking.

"I think you hit a release on it," I tell him before sitting him up a little more and offering him a potion for the pain.

"So… you…" he starts before he pushes my hand away and grabs the potion with his good arm, clear-headed enough to know that he doesn't like being tended to for fear of admitting to a weakness, "fell through too?"

"No," I tell him while frowning at the fact that he's not comprehending the seriousness of his injuries and that there's a threatening bruise starting to form under his chin.

"I don't understand," he admits before wiping at a trail of potion that runs from his mouth and wincing when he touches himself near the jaw.

"Here," I mutter while pulling his hand away and taking his handkerchief out of his pocket to help him by lightly wiping at his mouth with it. "You hit your chin—"

"No shit."

"Hard," I add, ignoring the fact that he cut me off to point out that I was stating the obvious in a manner I would normally consider out of sorts for him. "It will take a while to heal but the pain should clear in about an hour."

"Maybe if I was more like you," he sarcastically grumbles before he tries to get up and swaggers, grabs at his head like it hurts, and winds up falling back into me.

"Stop being so difficult," I mutter before taking a look around and then down the dark tunnel, wondering where the water leads as the reflections of its movement dances along the cavern-like walls, making the environment seem strangely tranquil. We were already two stories below ground level and we must be at least another one-and-a-half now, if not more.

"Strange," Tseng mutters while wiping at the corner of his mouth again and looking around in confusion. Then he tries to sit upright as I hang onto him, almost counteracting his actions more than I'm trying to help. "Where's the light coming from?"

"I don't know," I answer in response to a greenish-blue hue that makes our surroundings seem iridescent and wondering if it's from years if not decades-worth of chemicals that have probably been dumped down here. Along with those thoughts though, I try to brush off the concern over any adverse affects they might have on him when I think of how he'd nearly drowned in them no more than a few minutes ago.

Then he turns his attention back to the grate and the steel ladder leading up to it and studies it with a strange curiosity, "You climbed down?"

"No."

"How'd you get down then?"

Not wanting to tell him that I jumped after him because he'll find a problem with my lack of forethought about getting us both trapped down here, I wind up only lowering my head while he puts the pieces together on his own and scoffs at me. Then he feebly pushes me away and shakes his head with thoughts I don't care to entertain.

"You're an idiot."

_Of course I am, _I sarcastically think as he manages to stand a little more successfully and steps a few feet away from me. He still sways though, and he takes another hard look at the grate and its surroundings.

"I don't see a lever."

"There isn't one," I lowly admit, causing him to shake his head at me again without paying any concern over the fact that I saved his life. Instead, he focusses only over the fact that I thoughtlessly got us both trapped and like always, I stew over the fact that he thinks it's my fault regardless of who hit the lever first.

"Well," he muses as he rubs at his chin again and moves his jaw to test the severity of his injury. All the while, he keeps his other arm still and limps closer to the water, "Hojo wouldn't have that lever or the ladder if he didn't want to come down here. Not to mention the fact that it appears like he wanted to keep this place hidden."

"Kjata," I mutter before admitting that I'd come to the same conclusion while he takes a more curious look around and says, "I wonder what he's hiding down here."

All the while, I'm wishing that he would stop talking, thinking that it's only going to slow the spell and the potions down, and when I suggest that he should give his tongue a rest, he only gives me a disapproving glare like I was somehow responsible for it all to begin with.

Either that or he thinks I'm telling him to 'shut up.'

"Are you telling me to sh–?"

"No," I mutter as I place my hand over his mouth as gently as I can and grit my teeth over the fact that he'd confirmed my last thought, "I'm saying that you've injured yourself and that you should rest for a while."

"Down here?" he asks with a disbelieving tone before he snorts at the thought and painfully snickers out, "I don't think so."

Then he steps into the filthy water that comes to below his waist and starts running his hands along the slime-covered walls beneath the surface.

"What are you doing?" I ask, wondering how he can be so disdainful whenever I do something like that. Yet it's never an issue when he does it himself.

"Looking for a switch… There has to be one."

Although I argue with him to get out of the water, not knowing if it's one of his better ideas, he refuses and continues to run is hands along and as far down the walls as he can. He's convinced that Hojo would have put it somewhere that wasn't obvious while I wonder if the switch I've just noticed across the way might be what he's looking for and I mutter, "I doubt his intention was to trap himself down here."

"He was nuts," Tseng reminds me while I almost snicker at the thought and wonder if Tseng's any less _nuts_ as I step across the way, knowing that he wouldn't listen to me if I wasted my non-existent breath about the switch being in an obvious spot right by the ladder. Albeit, it's in the shadows that his eyes probably aren't capable of seeing in.

"Found it," he says, stopping me before I make my way entirely to the ladder.

"What?" I ask with my hand in the dead air and my head partially turned, wondering what the hell he's talking about now.

"Right here," he says, "near the top."

Suddenly thinking he hit his head harder than I originally thought, I turn around to see that he moved over to the other side, facing me before he yanks on something under a discoloured stone on the surface. His movement suggests it was a lever that he found. But that's not the biggest concern on my mind as a low grinding noise catches my attention near the location across from where he's standing and I wind up acting on pure instinct again as I pull him out of the water while he protests—for fear of something else going wrong.

"What's the matter with you?"

"You've already hurt yourself once today."

"Only once?" he snidely asks, reminding me of the Ying/Yang in the hall that caused him to sprain his ankle. Then I pull him closer, more protectively, and I ready my gun with my other hand while ignoring him as he tells me, "You're overreacting."

Whether he's right or not is unimportant right now and I remind myself that I'd rather overreact than have any more regrets as the initial whining of machinery stops and a more frictional sound begins as if whatever he's triggered has been neglected for years and is reacting far slower than it normally would to whatever it was that Tseng triggered.

"We should get out of here."

"No," Tseng answers while attempting to get away from my protective hold with less effort than he's used in the past, mostly because I'm guessing that he's pampering his arm, "If Hojo was hiding something down here, I need to know—_Shinra_ needs to know."

"At the risk of injury?"

"I'm beginning to wonder if you were really a Turk," he sarcastically mutters while suddenly readying his own gun and reloading it when the noise finally stops. Then a part of the cavernous wall falls back, creating a strong dust-cloud in its wake that causes him to jump too subtly for an average person to notice.

"Scared?"

"Hardly."

For a moment, we both simply stare into the new haze while it slowly settles. Then he betrays himself again by nervously resting his hand on my wrist as my arm crosses over the front of his shoulders to keep him close and with a subtle nod, I protectively pull him closer, readying myself to step in front of him if the need arises.

"What are you doing?"

Knowing that he'll find the answer offensive, I keep my silence and start to push him behind me anyway. But like usual, he catches on to my obvious action and protests as if he thinks it will get through my thick skull and make me see reason the way he thinks it should be seen.

"I don't need you to protect me."

"Humour me," I mutter, more of a low growl than anything while I lower my head and squint at the dark cavern-like opening to see if what it leads to is visible from where we stand, "Just this once."

As a response, he only scoffs at me, nothing more. Then he shakes his gun in my face to let me know that he'll humour me by standing behind me but he sure as hell isn't going to put his faith in my bumbling idiocy that causes me to grit my teeth instead of saying anything in regard to the fact that he's the bumbling idiot this time around.

"Just get behind me," I lowly growl, finally being able to see more while Tseng hops to his toes to get a better view over my shoulder, forgetting about his ankle and wincing at the reminder before falling into my back with his bad arm and grimacing again at the reminder that he's still in the process of healing.

"What is it?"

"I don't know," I tell him, suddenly wondering if his head injury is going to leave any permanent damage and then I suddenly find myself more concerned over the thought than I thought I would be.

All I can see is an opening, dark, dusty, and maybe deep enough to lead farther into the earth. It could lead to a joining room or cavern or it may be nothing more than hollowed out earth that never got to meet the originator's plans. I can't hear anything beyond the opening either—no threat even though I still keep the gun aimed and anticipate something unexpected out of habit.

Though I have no idea what I could possibly anticipate regardless of the thoughts that monsters never seen before could very well be lurking there.

"What lives in the earth?" I ask, more to keep our minds occupied while we wait.

"Spiders, worms… mites…"

"What kind of mites?"

"What the hell kind of a question is that?" he asks with a slight hint of agitation carried on his tone before he snidely adds like he's not sure if I really am as stupid as he thinks I am at times, "There must be hundreds if not thousands of species… You might as well have asked me what bloody species of spider we could possibly run into as well."

"Mites," I repeat, suddenly trying to take my mind off of how much I'd like to tell him where to stick his unnecessary opinion right now.

Then he elaborates on a little known fact that I've already discovered some time ago regarding his phobia to insects. Although as he puts it, he simply doesn't like them.

"I hate spiders."

"It's an opening," I tell him, ignoring his grumbling before I ease my hand away from him and reluctantly put my gun back in its holster.

"Where's it go?"

"I don't know," I tell him before I pull him to my side and help support his weight from his sprain. "How's your arm doing?"

"Better," he mutters, reluctantly accepting my aid and nodding toward the opening, "You can see in the dark, right?"

"Yes," I tell him before taking a short step forward while he hops beside me. All the while I'm hoping that he isn't going to suggest what he winds up suggesting.

"We should check it out."

But of course, that suggestion is dismissed just as quickly as the door to the lab above us crashes open and voices flood the room—unfriendly voices, and something else, unsightly and monstrous comes barging out of the opening. It's also unfriendly, and Tseng has to add his two cents before both our guns are readied and aimed at what we both view as the greater threat, "This is so typical of you…"

"Me?

"Ah… Tseng… You look like you could use some help down there," comes a formal and amused voice from above us before the sound of a zipper is undone and Tseng is showered with something golden that I don't need to guess at. Just as that happens, the monstrosity before me lets out a screeching howl and sprays some kind of web to pull him in too quickly for me to stop.

And here, I thought I was the one having the bad day right as I start firing at the most immediate threat and Tseng manages to pull out his cane and painfully strikes me wherever he can reach with it as if to say it's all my fault.

But then again, he may have had another reason and it crosses my mind upon the second or third hit as bullets mindlessly fly from my gun and right before a shrieking howl of my own—though not exactly my own—joins in with the grating sounds from the mutated creature that looks like a combination of all three of the insects that Tseng so graciously named off… like he knew exactly what was hiding in the shadows.


	26. The End of the Rope

**The End of the Rope**

* * *

"_I'm so sorry…" she whispered, almost choking on her words as I lay on the dirt-stone floor near the coffins, curled on my side and wallowing in my own self-pity as she pushed the red cloak under the door that Hojo locked to keep me in and to keep her out, "I never meant for any of this to happen."_

_I never replied to her though, choosing not to acknowledge her, what she'd turned me into, or what she was doing to herself as I stared into space and held onto the chain around my neck, not even wanting to look at what she'd put there. I failed. I failed everyone—myself and everything, and I was being punished for it._

_My humanity was stripped away and I was being punished._

* * *

_It was days later, maybe even weeks when I finally moved, ignoring the hunger pangs and the stiffness from lying still for so long. For all I knew I may have never moved if it wasn't for Hojo's voice on the other side, ordering his men to brick up the gap under the door. _

_"She's been bringing him food," he said as I finally focussed on what I already knew was there._

_The older servings she'd brought had already turned, attracting the insects that fed on such things and my father's cloak was too close to it as well as it was to the door, and for some reason it was the only thing that mattered to me all the sudden. _

_It was also the first and last time that I moved since I put myself in that room as I grabbed the cloak, put it on, and climbed into an empty coffin to sleep the rest of eternity away, knowing that I should have been in a coffin anyway._

* * *

Fragments of reality and dream flash by, all of it feeding into the agony of not being able to be in control of myself at the moments I need it the most. But I don't think it would have mattered much, not as a part of me watches Tseng get reeled in by the web before a venomous stinger plunges into his back and he suppresses a scream with an impressive growl-sounding grunt after stiffening from the pain.

He tries to defend himself and does as good of a job as one could expect from someone in the situation that he's in. He's covered in a growing number of webs, he dropped his gun and pushed it farther away from himself when he went to grab it back in a blind panic the moment he was grabbed, and his cane was grabbed and angrily broken in half by something uncontrollable that lives within me.

I suppose I should be thankful that was all that Chaos did in response to his attempt to summon it though, and I suppose I should be wondering why it was all that Chaos did as a reaction, along with the fact that the first thing Chaos did after that was to try to protect him by attacking the creature that was attacking Tseng, almost like it wants to protect him.

But that's not the only thing that's confusing me right now, half-here and half-somewhere else. No matter how much the situation should be catching my attention, the only thing I can seem to focus on for the first time in over thirty years is… 'What was Lucrecia doing with my father's cloak?' and 'Why did she have it?'

It's not only that though. For some reason, each time I try to wash the thought away and focus on regaining any control that I might be able to, I wind up falling back into my past like a prison that I can never escape, and it's a prison that wants to close itself around me more than anything else at this moment.

Chaos…

* * *

"_What's this?" I asked after she handed me a chain with a small orb attached to it._

"_It's something that your… It was found at a dig near Bone Village," was her answer, and I'm suddenly regretting why I didn't ask her why she hesitated, "It's a small stone that the natives used to where. They believed it to alleviate burdens."_

"_Burdens..." I mused as she handed it to me and I rolled it around in my fingers, thinking of how my father was involved in an excavation near Bone Village several years before his disappearance, "You know, my fa—"_

"_Oh look!" she suddenly exclaimed, cutting me off while suddenly pointing at the dusky skies, "The first star of the night…"_

_Although I'll admit that the skies were inspiring that night, I couldn't help but get the feeling that she didn't like talking about my father, especially when I considered the manner in which she'd avoided every other topic involving him and the way that she reacted to me the first day that we met._

* * *

Imbecile… that's what Tseng would call me if he knew what was going through my head right now and it's what I wind up calling myself once I snap back to the present and the creature falls with a deafening shriek as a fowl and suffocating odour fills the air. Then I stand in a stunned sort of way as Tseng makes it to his knees, shaking and trembling as saliva runs from his mouth, almost like he's foaming and something is fired from what sounds like a silenced gun to hit me in the back of my shoulder. It's the unfortunate reminder that I must have forgotten about when the insect-like creature became the primary and immediate threat.

But unfortunately, those that entered the lab before Tseng was rudely defiled and attacked, never left. They must have stayed up there and watched, waiting for Chaos to remove the problem and then waiting for it to calm down.

Or to be more accurate, they were probably waiting for the opportune moment to sedate me and grab Tseng by a handful of his hair near the crown of his head to force him to stand, despite that he can barely even kneel at this moment.

Obviously he's not seen as a threat anymore and although I'm concerned about how quickly the poison he was injected with is going to spread as he makes a weakened attempt to fight and loses, I still can't stop thinking about where Lucrecia got my father's cloak from.

* * *

"_You doing all right, son…? You look a little cold."_

"_S-Sorry, Father…"_

"_Hm-hm… You're always apologizing… Here… Wear my cloak…"_

* * *

Dreams come and go.

They range from when I was a child to the time I was assigned to work in the Nibelheim lab. There's no meaningful order, only random interludes, fragments that seem to have no affect on the current situation and I wind up almost fighting to snap out of whatever slumber I was unwillingly sent to while a small twinge of relief fills up an empty place inside of me when I hear the sound of Tseng's voice and thank whatever mercies that he's still alive.

"I told you, I don't know."

His voice sounds weak though, almost like he's struggling to breathe as I hear him being roughly handled by his interrogator and what sounds like he's being backhanded across the face. Part of me is almost afraid to open my eyes for fear of seeing that he might be in worse condition than he was to begin with. But part of me knows there's no way for me to avoid what we've managed to get ourselves into as I open my eyes and all remnants of blame wash away.

"And I told you, I'm growing impatient with your _bullshit_!"

The only problem is that when I open my eyes, it's not Tseng or the expected surroundings that I see even though I think I can hear them.

"We know Rufus has been sending you guys out to collect that _mistake_ you made all those years ago, and we also know it has something to do with what your second-in-command is using to power that blasted EMR of his! But what we don't know is where THE HELL IS RUFUS?"

Instead, I see Lucrecia as I last saw her in the cave near the waterfall outside of Nibelheim, encased in a mako prison with her arms folded over her chest, thankful that I told her Sephiroth was laid to rest. Or more accurately, I don't think she ever knew that I lied to her about it.

"Well, if you know so damned much than you should already know where Rufus is," Tseng answers, raspy and laboured, almost like he's clenching his teeth before I hear the sound of another smack and a weak snicker coming from Tseng.

Then I hear the echoing sound of Lucrecia's voice asking me to forgive her before she starts to fade away and I try to call her back.

* * *

"Lucrecia!" I call, trying to reach out to her to hang onto her only to realize that when I try to reach out that my hands are tied to the chair that I'm sitting in and that I didn't only call her name in my dreams. I called it out to the room for all to hear as her last fading words echo through my skull from a distance that doesn't seem real.

"I forgive you, Vincent," is the last thing I hear her say, fading smile, before the image slips and all I can see is a room full of old lab supplies, cobwebs, six—maybe seven men, some neatly dressed and others looking more like thugs. In the midst of it all is a well-beaten Turk, looking ill and glaring at me like the asshole that I'm sure he's thinking I am for calling out Lucrecia's name again.

"I don't think she can help you," says the man standing in front of Tseng. He's gripping the front of the Turk's hair to keep his head up and snickering at the situation he's got us both in. Then he kneels in front of the Turk and grips his fingers into his swollen jaw before quietly asking him, "Don't you get tired of that?"

Tseng's only response is to try to kick him, making me wonder if he's forgotten that his legs are excessively bound along with the rest of him as if his captors didn't want to take any chances with him.

Then he snickers back at him and answers, "It's starting to grow on me… I think I might name my next child that."

"Funny," the man answers even though I doubt he's amused. Then he breathes out, "Only you would come up with something that cold," as if he's bored while he stands and smacks Tseng's bruised and tender-looking cheek with the palm of his hand.

After that, he says, "I doubt if I lost my daughter the way that you did that I'd be making such light of it at a time like this… and your _wife_ too…"

The words sting somewhere deep inside of him as those eyes return to the burning charcoal that I often see in him, like a nerve has been deliberately struck and he knows he walked himself into it. And if I know Tseng as well as I think I do, he's probably angrier at himself for leaving himself open than he is at anyone else right now, despite my own ignorant outburst involving Lucrecia's name.

"You're not looking so good, Tseng," the man says before he pulls the Turk's handkerchief from his breast pocket and wipes the saliva from the corners of his mouth while tauntingly musing, "I wonder how long it will take for that poison to kill a fighter like you…"

Then he snickers, places the handkerchief on Tseng's lap and turns his attention over to me.

"I suppose I should introduce myself to the infamous ex-Turk. Vincent Valentine… It's such a pity everyone thought you were dead…"

He smiles crookedly then, showing a mouth full of misaligned teeth with a satisfaction over the wheezing cough from behind him before Tseng's small cough turns into an all-out hacking. Then he spits something green onto the floor in front of him and sighs with a heavy wheeze while turning his attention to the ceiling like he doesn't want to deal with his condition right now.

The man takes a moment to look like he's bathing in the sound, as glorious to him as it is worrying to me. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath as if he's standing in a fresh meadow and then he snaps his attention to me with eyes so hazel that they almost look golden.

"Don't worry about him," he says before smiling and walking up to me like he's got a secret to share, "that old _bastard_ will probably find some way to outlive us all."

Then he snickers to emphasize the mockery of his words and takes a Heal Materia from a concealed armlet around his wrist and adds, "Especially if I wind up feeling like rewarding him for doing the right thing and telling us where his psychotic boss is."

"And if he doesn't?" I mindlessly ask, already knowing that they'll kill him or both of us either way and focussing on how foreign my own voice sounds to me at this moment.

"We believe that he may run out of time," he answers before he snickers again, toys with the Materia in front of me, tilts his head so that his shoulder-length brown hair falls to the side and steps closer to me.

"That is of course, if he isn't already running out of time. But because I'm an optimistic man there is the off-chance that you might answer the question for me."

"Why would I do that?" I defensively ask, regretting it the moment the words leave my mouth and wanting some way to lash out at him when he adjusts my headscarf to move my bangs from obstructing my eyes as much as they are.

"I have no idea," he answers, "but I'm willing to bet that there's some kind of connection between the two of you since every time we've managed to locate our obscure little friend over there that the two of you have been bickering like a married couple…"

He hangs onto the words for a moment as if he's beginning to wonder just how close or far apart we are before he finishes with a thoughtless shrug, "Not to mention that you've not only protected him from my men but you've also managed to give some fairly lethal blows to my men as well, leaving some of them for dead."

For a confused moment, Tseng turns his ailing attention over to me and stares at me with unfocussed eyes as if he's silently questioning whether I've killed in his name, and knowing Chaos and my memory lapses, I'm afraid that both of us fear the answer is 'yes.'

"I must admit I'm curious though. Because I could have sworn that one of my men reported that they saw you attack the redhead as well…" he muses before one of his other men confirms it as if he'd been watching us at the time.

"So I guess you could say I'm a little confused about what exactly is going on between you and my ex-boss."

He takes a look around then and slowly studies Hojo's old lab, buried in the bowels of the Nibelheim mansion where screams are never heard from the outside, and then he returns his attention over to Tseng who's suddenly coughing again, only this time, blood runs from the corner of his mouth along with the green telltale signs of internal infection. With a small satisfaction that almost makes him look serene, he returns his attention to me and takes another moment to silently contemplate something.

"Would I be correct in assuming that this has something to do with why Tseng is still alive?"

"What?

"Oh how rude of me," he says while smiling at my confused question, "I almost forgot to introduce myself… It seems only fitting since I know who both of you are."

"I don't care about your name," I growl, unable to hide my agitation at what he meant and the fact that he danced over it like it was meant to needle at me and it worked.

"Well, if there's one thing that Tseng taught me that I actually stuck to, it was the point that he stressed about being polite. Although I must admit that I rarely saw him practice what he preached… Anyway, the name's Koerin," he says and holds out his hand as if he means for us to shake before laughing like it was silly of him to forget that I'm tied up, probably just as securely as Tseng.

"Well…" he says, with a shrug, almost like his mood changes to the beat of a drum and he's back to being less playful and more serious—business oriented, "I feel I have a couple of cards to play here.

"On one hand, I have a dying Turk that will hopefully last long enough for me to get some value from his pathetically worthless life. I have someone that I feel I can safely call his friend or at the very least, an important colleague of sorts where I'm guessing that the life of the other is important. Or if I'm as lucky as I'd like to think I am, I have someone that is his enemy, only pretending to be his friend and that you'll turn on him at the first given moment of opportunity… much like his old roommate that stabbed him in the back did at the Temple."

He laughs then and places the Heal Materia on a shelf close enough that I could reach if I wasn't bound before turning his attention back to Tseng and muttering out "DeSpell" to make any effort I might think I have to cast the spell to remove the poison from Tseng's body rendered useless.

"I have to admit… I like games," he says and turns his attention back to me.

"Now… I've spent the last…" for a moment of pause he looks at his watch and silently counts on his fingers as if he's figuring a mathematical equation in his head, "_Two_ hours watching our friend grow weaker by the moment and trying to get him to tell me something other than the fact that he'd expected better from me than to hang out with thugs, and I have to admit I've grown a little tired of it."

"So now that you're awake, I'm going to try something else and I'll start with what I know in hopes that you'll feel like adding to it."

"He doesn't know anything, Koerin…"

"Tseng… I'll listen to what you have to say when I address you."

"Fine," Tseng mutters as if he really doesn't care or is too sick to really give a damn at this moment, "waste as much time as you need."

"I believe I will," Koerin mutters before he pulls out his gun and empties all but one bullet, "but first, I want to see how close the two of you are."

"You won't get anywhere by killing him."

"That depends. I happen to know that when it gets right down to it that you'll do whatever it takes to ensure that those you care about are spared. I also know that you like to cover it up with that hard-ass façade of yours by pretending that you only do it to show how much more superior you are to them."

"You don't know me very well then."

"I know you better than you think I do, Tseng… Anyway, Mr. Valentine, are you aware of the latest mess that the Turks have gotten themselves into? I'm sure you'll find it interesting."

"You're not going to find out where Rufus is by telling him that."

"No. But I will have a little fun evaluating my theory," Koerin says right before he pulls the trigger at me and Tseng jumps at the sound of the empty chamber, almost like he was concerned that it wasn't. "Interesting, Tseng… it appears that you _do_ care."

Whatever Tseng mutters out next is too illegible for anyone to fully understand. It's a combination of bitter-sounding Wutian dialect and dizzy slurring while he adjusts himself beneath the ropes and looks over at the lab equipment covered in dust-sheets with a lack of any real interest as if to avoid the situation by pretending it isn't happening, withdrawing.

All the while, Koerin keeps his eyes turned to the side and his attention peeked to what Tseng's doing, regardless of the fact that he keeps his back to him the entire time.

"Insulting your acquaintance won't convince me of anything," Koerin mutters, concluding that whatever Tseng said had something to do with degrading me like he usually does as he spins the chamber on the gun and smirks.

"Now where was I…?"

"Oh yes, Mr. Valentine… Did Tseng ever tell you what they did when the Geostigma was infecting the people?"

He kneels in front of me then and taps the barrel of his gun against his chin while looking up at me like he thinks I'll get a real kick out of what he has to say.

Then he smirks and tells me in a wry-sounding tone, "In a blind panic, Rufus ordered them—_us_—to flood the remaining mako in their refineries with a chemical that the company used to solidify it because it was believed that the mako from the refineries was tainted and that it might have been the root to the Geostigma that Rufus was suffering from.

"Now I know that doesn't sound very interesting and in their defence, they did it because once the refineries were shut down, the maintenance went downhill and leaks that couldn't be controlled had been discovered, spurring their suspicions. And Rufus—given his sudden change of heart towards the world—feared that if we didn't stop it that it would leak into the pure streams that run their natural course and infect them to a state worse than what we were already in, furthering the devastation brought onto us by the Geostigma.

"Of course you're probably wondering what the big deal is… right?" he asks before he stands again and snickers while my attention fixes more onto Tseng when he starts to cough again and I notice a small hint of red veins in a web-like pattern running up the side of his neck, barely visible above his collar.

But Koerin seems uninterested in Tseng's condition and continues to tell me that, "The big deal is that Hojo in his last moment of questionable glory got the bright idea to contaminate the solution that Shinra used and to make things more interesting, no one has been able to identify what the hell he contaminated it with."

"On the bright side though, Shinra has discovered that even a small particle of their newest concoction delivers enough energy to support an entire continent. _But_… and this is a _big_ but… Shinra has no idea what the hell this stuff will do in the long run even though they _are_ using it, and the fact that Hojo created it… well… need I say more?"

He smiles then, satisfied with himself as I watch Tseng turn farther away from me and wonder if the anger over Shinra's idiocy shows in my face. The blame isn't passed to him though. The only blame I pass is the blame that I put on myself for following him so blindly, never asking what he was up to and never concerning myself with Shinra's dealings.

Instead, I only ever saw something that captivated me for reasons I couldn't seem to reason out.

It would be preferable to say that the only thing I'm feeling in regard to him is disgust at this moment. Or at the very least, it's what I'd like to convince myself of as Koerin turns the gun to Tseng, pulls the trigger, and snickers when Tseng grunts and I yell out his name as if I can use it to turn back the clock to save his life.

But there's no need as Koerin walks over to the Turk and picks something up from the floor near him and says, "It looks like I found myself a winner," and turns to me with the dud in his hand and adds, "do you honestly think I would risk killing the prize…? Only a fool would put real bullets in his gun during an interrogation."

He snickers again and hits the back of his hand to Tseng's shoulder where the dud hit him and adds with a lighter tone when Tseng hisses, "Hurts like a son of a bitch though… doesn't it?"

"I should have left you for dead."

"But you didn't… and I'm indebted to you for that, which is why I'm being nice to you right now… _Sir_."

After that he turns his attention back to me, winks, orders his men to remove the sheets from the lab equipment and tells me that he believes I'm a fool to care about Tseng after knowing everything that he thinks I should know about him. Then he tells me that Tseng has always had an infliction toward experiments and that he's managed to hide it exceptionally well in regard to his job.

"Of course anyone that's mentored him as closely as I have would tell you that he's downright disturbed by the mere thought of experimentation on living beings."

But he feels it's important to tell me that before he decides to tell us both that Hojo had an experiment planned that he never got to start, and that he even had a subject selected and that the subject in question was the very same Turk that was a roommate with Hojo's greatest masterpiece, and his name is 'Tseng.'

How much of it is true though, I don't know, even though I wonder as Tseng's ailing attention focuses on Koerin with a mixture of confusion and something resembling irrational concern as Koerin's men are ordered to untie the Turk and to place him in the vessel that Hojo set up for him over a decade ago.

"You've gone mad!" is the best that Tseng can blurt out as he attempts to defend himself in hopes that he can summon enough strength to stop them from dragging him across the floor, and he resorts to literally digging his nails into the crumbling stone, breaking them after one of the men loses his hold on him and he falls to the ground and tries to crawl away, telling them that, "You can't do this…! What makes you think you'll ever find out where Rufus is by doing this?"

And as if to answer his question, the moment the vessel is opened and they manage to get one of Tseng's struggling legs inside while trying to keep a hold on his body as he twists and writhes to get free, I find myself urgently growling out with a burning urgency as if I think it will help him, "I know where Rufus is!"

Whether I'd thought it out well enough though, I don't really know, and all the while I try hard to avoid Tseng's betrayed eyes, questioning and judging as he heavily pants, wheezing heavier than before, and Koerin smiles. Then his men ease up on the Turk and start to return Tseng to the chair before he passes out, probably from the combination of the excitement and the poison running through his veins even quicker than it was before from his blood pumping faster.

"I knew I could break one of you," Koerin smugly says before he changes his mind and orders his men to fasten Tseng to the examination table instead of returning him to the chair, flushed cheeks, soaked hair, and out cold while Koerin's men strap him down and Koerin injects something unknown into the Turk's neck.

"But as insurance, Mr. Valentine, I want to ensure that you're not going to lie to me…

"Now…

"Where. _Exactly_. Is Rufus?"


	27. Confessions

**Confessions**

* * *

"I told you all I know," I say, weary from the time that he takes when each second is vital to Tseng's life, and I find myself feeling sickened by it when I ask, "What did you inject him with?" as Koerin walks away from me and stops near one of his men.

"Suspenseful… isn't it?" he responds before he inserts a dart into a gun and aims it at me while stating that he's impressed that he was able to come up with something strong enough to knock me out in one shot before he emptily says, "I really hate waste."

It's the last thing I recall before the room grows dim and any concerns I might have had involuntarily wash away.

_"Miserable Tonberry…"_

_"Seph?"_

How many hours have passed, I don't know. I'm not even sure if I'm anywhere near being awake but the purring sound of Sephiroth's voice speaking to Tseng sets off alarms somewhere inside of me and I struggle to open my eyes and clear out the haze that clouds the clarity of my vision.

He crawls along the length of the steel table like a predator closing in on the weak prey below him. Silver hair falls from his shoulders like a veil that claims the Turk as the sound of metal and leather conflict with a hostile sound that nearly obscures a strange scurrying sound in the background.

"What do you… want?"

"What I've always wanted," Sephiroth responds as he slowly undoes the straps securing Tseng's arms and lowers himself enough to whisper into his ear, "I've waited long enough for it…"

"Get away from me."

Sephiroth only chuckles at the request though, toying and chilling while ignoring the demand and stroking the sickly strands that are sticking to the sides of the Turk's face back. But despite the mockery, he does it with a caring and careful touch that almost conflicts with the undertone of misguided amusement.

"Beautiful… beautiful… Tonberry…" he says, like he's strangely admiring Tseng's condition, "After everything I've done for you…"

A dream, I tell myself, as I struggle to find a way to force myself to wake up and there's a strange noise that pollutes my senses, shuffling, scurrying, and other sounds that are alive, like struggling. I can't make any of them out clearly enough though and things start to feel strange, like I'm partially moving.

And without much time to give it any thought, a gunshot snaps me out of whatever daze I was in and my eyes snap open from what feels like a dead sleep to find that I'm still in the chair and have managed to loosen the ropes enough to get my arms free without me knowing how, and somehow, somewhere in my subconscious, I've been managing to keep whatever type of creature I've been struggling with inches away from devouring me.

"One would think…" I hear Tseng say somewhere in the background, "That Koerin… would… have warned you… not… to do something… so stupid…"

I have no idea what he's talking about though, or even to whom he's saying it to. Nor do I even know what's going on as I continue to struggle with what I can only guess is some type of arachnid specimen, possibly blind as its furry and wire-like feelers run over my face, studying me, and the orifice that I'm assuming is its mouth opens.

Despite the other sounds of movement that grab my attention, the only thing I can focus on at the moment is the slime-like saliva dripping from the sepia-coloured fangs that are threatening to tear into me. And the next thing I know, I feel like I'm frozen as I hear two gunshots go off.

For a moment, nothing seems real and I question it all as the lights suddenly appear brighter than they were a moment ago and everything feels more alive than the dead grey that it was, and I suddenly wonder if it was all just a dream of some sort while the thumping sound of the creature falls to the ground, reminding me that some of it was real.

Then I notice Tseng on the floor, hardly able to breathe and grasping at his chest as he hovers over one of the men I'm assuming Koerin left behind to keep an eye on us, seemingly dead now. He frantically digs through all the man's pockets and seems frustrated before he sets his sight on me and laboriously crawls across the floor towards me.

"Vince…" he breathes out as he weakly undoes one of the knots in the ropes, loosening the remainder of them enough for me to undo the rest on my own and falls over, "I can't… breathe…"

The actions that follow are mindless as I struggle with the last of the ropes and grab the Heal Materia from the shelf that Koerin left it on, hoping that it's charged enough as I quickly place it into my gauntlet and growl out "Stay with me!" when I notice that he's nearly suffocating now.

After that, I growl out "Poisona," while hanging onto him and praying without knowing who or what I'm praying to, or even why.

He's cold and clammy and I can only hope that I'm not too late while I grow mindlessly numb and dump the last of my Potions into his mouth, spilling most of it on the floor. It even takes me a moment to suddenly realize that I'm chanting the words as they go through my head as if they were nothing more than my own breath, "Don't take him away from me… Please… Don't take anymore away from me…"

* * *

It seems like forever even though only minutes pass and he finally chokes out a breath as if he'd been drowning and weakly pushes me away so that he can have the freedom to vomit without anything constricting him. All I do is stare at him, still concerned over the unhealthy veins that have made it up the side of his face by now while wondering why his shirt is untucked and his pants are undone.

"Are you all right?" I mindlessly ask, already knowing the obvious answer to the question while I move closer to try to aid him.

But he pushes me away again and scurries farther from me while illegibly uttering something in Wutian and refusing to acknowledge me. About the best I can make out is something about me being a traitorous defector, a turncoat, or a misleading ingrate and I frown at the fact that I've given him no reason to think otherwise of me right now, and I wind up coming up with the best I can in what sounds like nothing more than a pathetic excuse.

"I did what I had to…"

"You… have betrayed… _everything…_ I've spent… my entire life… working for…"

"I saved your pathetic life!" I fire back, still not thinking before I speak and not intending to react as adversely as I do, "If I didn't do something to stop them you would have been nothing more than a _subject_ like everyone else you've managed to turn over to Hojo!"

From there, he only nods, seemingly too weak to defend himself even if it's only on a verbal level. But he still manages to ask me if I honestly believe that the majority of his work was to explicitly screw people over, as laboured as it is, and I wind up reminding him that he's been involved with turning nearly everyone that I know over to Shinra's most notorious madman—the twisted scientist in whom they all blindly trusted.

And somehow, the topic turns to Cloud and someone named Zack, and how he did his best to try to keep them out of harms way. Then it turns into how he lost the only thing that ever meant anything to him because of those two without failing to point out that Hojo also had something to do with him losing a man that he loved while questioning how I can even come up with the nerve to insist that he idolized that egotistical maniac so bloody much.

"Sephiroth," I angrily growl at the reminder of Tseng's past loves while completely ignoring the rest, and I suddenly remember whatever the hell it was I was witnessing or dreaming of earlier. Then I instinctively scout the room for any traces that point to it being a reality while looking for my gun at the same time and refusing to let whatever argument I can't let go of to end as I spot it on a counter near the main door.

"The two of you deserve each other… You deserve to _rot_ together…"

"You're a miserable… excuse… for a… life," he mutters before he mumbles more quietly in an attempt to keep his words from being heard, "and you're probably right."

Then he attempts to push himself up and winds up stumbling over and vomiting again before slurring out something about the fact that he thinks I should just leave since I see him as nothing but the penance for all of my burdens if not some kind of self-inflicted burden for my own personal need for mortification.

Wordy, I sarcastically think, for someone who can barely maintain his breath and push himself from the floor. Then I give my head a shake and lowly growl out, "You're not a burden," almost attempting not to be heard as I pull the safety back on my gun and scout the room again, still looking for any traces of the visions I might have had or might not of had before suddenly focusing on the disarray of Tseng's clothes again.

At least I'm not imagining that part, I think, while still wondering why his pants are undone if not questioning how in the hell he managed to get loose before I mindlessly mutter like I'm not really here, "How'd you get loose?"

"How… do you… think…?" he barely mumbles as he rolls onto his back and tiredly moves his hand over his open zipper while chuckling with a conflicting distaste, "Sometimes… it's just… dumb luck…"

"Dumb Luck…?" I emptily repeat while something inside of me feels like it's about to combust over the thoughts that I'm assaulted with and I can't seem to fight off the distasteful sneer that I'm suddenly displaying.

Then I try to go against the grain of the obvious in hopes that I can come up with something more desirable that makes sense as I stare blankly at the steel table he was strapped to while simultaneously trying to convince myself that he's scum anyway. He deserves whatever misfortunes fall his way.

Then I tell myself that no one does and I wind up fighting with my own thoughts, questioning whether it's only because I don't want it to register while still trying to lie to myself by wanting to believe that I don't care.

But I do and I grow more furious inside while denying it at the same time when he tells me what he woke up to, so casual and unaffected that I begin to feel chilled by it.

He tells me the man was over top of him, about to undo the straps around his ankles and I can almost taste the acrid thoughts that churn in my gut over it.

"And then what?" I angrily growl before walking over to him like I'm on a mission and pull him to his feet, ignoring the fact that he still wants nothing to do with me right now.

"There was… gunfire… in the hall… Keep your traitorous claws to yourself…"

"No… What happened next?"

"He readied his gun… and…"

He stops mid-sentence and looks like he's about to pass out, awakening more concerns as I look around the room for something to restore him with, like a Potion or a Restore Materia as I piece the rest of his story out in my head while mildly shaking him to keep him conscious. I assume that he took advantage of an opportune moment as he would probably view it, and he managed to struggle the gun away with that iron will of his that won't admit to defeat.

But looking at him, I'm assuming most of it was luck and then I wonder about that luck when I look over to the chair they tied me to and see the dead arachnid on the floor nearby. Its presence must have thrown Tseng's aggressor into a short enough state of shock that allowed Tseng to get the gun from him and I'm suddenly wondering what happened, exactly.

"You said there was a ruckus outside?"

"Mm..."

Then I remind him not to fall asleep while I quickly do his zipper up, feeling ill over the fact that I have to and explaining to him that we need to get out of here as fast as we can. He's been injected with something that should be concerning him. Not to mention that Koerin and his other men could return at any moment. Plus, whatever happened in the hall or whatever's out there can make its way in, and the best he can mutter in response to any of it is, "Not going… anywhere… with you…"

"You don't have a choice," I growl under my breath while I pull his arm more securely around my neck, doubting that he'd believe anything I could say right now to try to convince him that I did what I felt I had to. Then I pull him closer, more protectively, and I ready my gun and take him to the door with me before pressing my mouth against the top of his head and hoping that what I say will have some kind of affect on his opinion of me right now, despite the conflicting thoughts that I have about him.

"You need to trust me."

Then I kick the door down and stand there, readied for anything and frozen at the same time by the sight that hits me like an onslaught…

* * *

"Leviathan," Tseng quietly breathes out, struggling to keep his eyes open while not getting any less lethargic as he tries to drink in what he's seeing, "They're all… dead…"

I'd ask what the hell happened. But I doubt either of us can really go beyond what appears to be the answer.

"Arachnids," I think, wondering if we're the ones responsible for releasing them when Tseng opened the sealed cavern as I scout for any of them beyond the evidence that they were here.

Webs are scattered everywhere like fine curtains and sheer sheets across the grey stone of the walls and floor. Stagnant air keeps them motionless and bullet-shells lay scattered across the floor. What's left of Koerin's men are wrapped in cocoons, pale as death. But the only concern that crosses my mind at the moment—odd as it is—is the thought that asks if this is all of them, Koerin's men, or will I have to deal with more of them along the way while trying to leave this cursed place that I always come back to, and leaving the arachnids as barely a secondary thought.

Those concerns change in a heartbeat though, as three of the creatures come out of nowhere and more webs start to spin and Tseng mentions something about me being cursed and something else about him never having been in a situation like this before.

"One thing… after… another…" he says, "With you…" while shakily holding the gun that he kept from the man that was going to violate him and firing with a surprising accuracy, given his condition.

There's too many of them though, and between the two of us not being at our best we can barely hold them off, and I wind up pulling Tseng closer to me again in a manner of protection and almost squeezing the life out of him.

Then I take a step back, taking him with me and making sure that it's safe to proceed while continuing to fire and ignoring Tseng's complaint that I'm trying to suffocate him and that he can't get an accurate shot if I insist on hanging onto him like that.

I only ignore him though, unable to let go while telling myself that I'm not giving them the chance to take him again. Then I take another step back while firing, and then another, still firing, focussed and resolute until Tseng throws his gun at them. It's empty and deemed useless to him now and he doesn't seem to have the strength or desire to hold onto it anymore anyway, and something inside of me snaps.

"I can't hold them off!" I tell him, unable to hide the stress of the fact and I wind up doing and saying something I can't recall ever saying before, "We're gonna have to try to outrun them."

After coming to terms with the admittance of failure, I take a frustrated breath, empty but just as effective and I quickly and mindlessly move us both towards the wall that looks as though it would be the safest to stick to while continuing to hold them off as best as I can, and I knock something over in my haste as a result. It hits the ground with a cruelly sharp and ear-piercing burst, like a vessel of compressed gas has been ruptured and Tseng lets out a sharp yelp while trying to cover his ears as a small trail of blood runs from them.

"Shit," is the only word that seems to stick out in my head at that moment and I suddenly forget about the rest of our problems for a split second, almost ready to tend to him immediately. But something else catches my attention as the steady sound of streaming gas continues.

We're suddenly alone.

The arachnids must have been too sensitive to the initial burst and what ruptured Tseng's eardrums seems to have had a more negative effect on the creatures. They're all dead now. Some of them are twitching from a more agonizingly slow death than the others. But I'm not thinking of finishing them off at the moment because the only thing I'm concerning myself with is the fact that we have a chance to get away, and the sooner I can get Tseng to a medical lab, the better.

* * *

Any reassurances that I say to him are more in vain than anything else as I quickly drag him through the rest of the mansion—almost tempted to carry him at times—and anything that I could say to gain any reassurances from him concerning the state that he's in go unsaid.

I even wind up silently thanking no one and nothing in particular when we make it to the open grounds outside, no worse for wear than we already are. Then I move quickly through the town under the dark night skies and the sparsely lit streets until I make it to the medical lab that's obscured from the main roads of Nibelheim and I suddenly wonder how long we were down there for while I smash my gauntlet-covered fist through the wire-enforced window and undo the latch to gain us both entry.

"Sit here," I tell him when I take him into the bowels of the building and find somewhere comfortable for him so I can look for something to cure him with. It doesn't matter that he can't hear me and it doesn't matter that he probably couldn't move if he wanted to since he seems to be slowly shutting down although the poison appears to have stabilized. All that matters right now though is the hope that I'm not too late, knowing damn-well that he could be permanently deaf or damaged in some other way that I haven't thought of yet.

_One thing at a time, _I keep telling myself each time the nagging reminder arises about what Koerin injected him with as I carelessly look for Materia and Potions, knocking stuff over and breaking things that are irrelevant to my goal in the process.

Then after hurrying to find everything that I think I might need, I return to him with an arm full of Potions and Hi-Potions and a Full Cure Materia that was carelessly jammed into my gauntlet after tearing out the Heal one to make room. And there Tseng is, taking a laboured breath while still being able to look at me like he thinks I'm a ridiculous waste of skin before turning his attention to the potions in my arms and muttering "overgil…" which I think means overkill, and then he tries to wipe at the trail of drool running from the corner of his mouth, misses, and tiredly lets his hand drop to his lap like he doesn't really care.

I only nod though, not caring to comment even though it doesn't matter either way, and instead I say the only thing that matters to me at this point, "Full Cure."

Then I almost cringe at the violent reaction he seems to have to it.

He lets out a partly suppressed growl, stiffens up before falling out of the chair and curling up with his arms over his gut. Then he vomits again, mostly a black liquid that makes me wonder what kind of internal damage he suffered and arousing a new worry that I might have made another mistake by using the cure on him instead of something with a milder affect.

"Leviathan…" he spits out before wiping the sudden onslaught of sweat at his forehead and spitting whatever's left of the sour taste from his mouth. Then he shakily sits up, appearing to be gaining some strength while twisting his mouth in discomfort from whatever's going on inside of him, "This is… by far… the worst day…"

Unable to clear my head out, I only stand there staring at him through my bangs and still hoping that I didn't do anything wrong as he starts to gain some colour back, which is mildly relieving some of my concerns. Then I give my head a shake and move to his side while asking him if he can hear me, and the fact that he calls me a traitorous imbecile again and comments on the fact that he liked it better when he couldn't hear my treasonous voice, oddly relieves another one of my concerns.

He stands after that and turns into his old difficult self, reassuring me even more when he refuses to cooperate with me when I tell him that I want to take a blood sample from him.

"You've gotten more than you deserve from me," is his argument before he pushes me out of his way and starts to collect what he thinks he'll need to take his own blood sample and takes something that he claims is for the pain while pocketing the rest of whatever it is, and he's still too stubborn to admit to the fact that he's still shaking and can hardly keep his hand steady enough to insert the needle.

"I didn't tell them where your friends are," is my returning argument, more tired-sounding than I expected and I'm assuming that 'friends' is the more accurate term to use for them while noting that he's only half-listening to me by hearing what he wants to hear.

"Oh," he says before getting frustrated and taking a deep breath to try to steady his hand, "so I suppose I'm to assume that Koerin simply left because he was bored…"

"Let me help you… You can barely keep your hand steady."

"You stay the hell away from me…! I heard what you bloody-well said…! My life isn't worth the number of lives that are living on that farm!"

"I didn't tell them!"

"Really?" he suddenly asks, tone dripping with disbelieving mockery while he gets mad at himself again for not being able to keep his hands steady and he throws the needle at the wall, breaking it, "Then tell me, _Valentine_… What _did_ you tell him to get him to trust you enough to leave?"

"I told him Rufus was staying on a farm."

At that, he looks at me like he's stunned, maybe even speechless before he turns angry again and rips the tourniquet from his arm. Apparently he's given up on trying to take a blood sample altogether. Then he starts to inform me that he's been with Rufus since the man was a small child and that he even watched over him at times, cared for him, and not once does he let me get a word in as he continues to tell me things that I don't want to know about the two of them.

Although I'll admit that the darker side of my curiosity is satisfied when he tells me that he slept with Rufus the night that he found out Sephiroth was dead and I find myself doing nothing more than nodding and gritting my teeth at the mention of Sephiroth's name while I stare at the phone on the desk in the adjacent room and tell him to shut up so I can say something.

"Maybe the reason behind it wasn't the most noble. But I was shocked, upset, and he was there… offering himself—"

"I said, shut up!"

He falls silent for a moment then, surprisingly even though I think that it's the most he's ever said to me about anything without my needing to ask, and I walk to the phone as if I'm not even in control of my actions while saying that, "If you would just listen to me, you would have known that I didn't say _which_ farm."

Then I pick up the phone and roughly place it in his hands, knowing that he's not going to take my word for anything of value and I angrily growl at him to, "Call Rufus."

Maybe he'll take his word over mine, I'm thinking, and we both just stand there for a moment, wills clashing like they often do before he finally runs those cold charcoal eyes over me in a calculating manner and gives in.

"All right," he calmly says, forcing the stoic façade again and he starts dialling.

All the while, I'm thinking to myself that Rufus better bloody-well pick up the damn phone as I look for a new syringe for Tseng and pick up the tourniquet that he threw at the counter. Then I feel relieved and start moving more quietly the moment Rufus answers, sounding cranky over the fact that he was awakened in the middle of the night by one of his Turks that are on vacation.

After that, the conversation turns from Tseng suspiciously asking Rufus all sorts of bizarre questions concerning how he's doing and what's going on around him, to Tseng explaining the reason and leaving everything that he feels is irrelevant out about why he's asking. In the meantime, I'm taking advantage of his suddenly placid change of heart and tying the tourniquet back around his arm and taking a sample of his blood, thankful that he's letting me as a loud explosion brightens up the room through the windows just after I'm done.

"What was that?" I hear Rufus ask on the other line as Tseng mindlessly stands and stares at the window where the brightest light is coming from. Then he calmly walks to the window like he already knows the answer and blankly stares at the visible parts of the flames in the sky as their tips furiously dance passed the visibility of the rooftops of Nibelheim, and he says as if he's in a trance, "I believe it's the Nibelheim Mansion."

Then he turns and curiously runs his eyes over me, studying me for a moment before he rubs at his ear as if it's itchy. The gesture suddenly reminds me of the canister that I knocked over when I decided that we were too outnumbered and how it burst his eardrums when it ruptured. It leads me to believe that he's silently reminding me that I may be at fault for what he thinks he's witnessing as he calmly turns around to stare at the flames again and explains to Rufus that, "It appears to have suffered an explosion…"

However, he concludes that the new turn of events can be used to his benefit since Koerin most-likely believes that he and someone that he doesn't mention may have still been down there when it happened.

Typical response for him, I think, as I shake my head and walk to the back so I can try to relieve the rest of my concerns about his health while feeling more at ease that he seems happier now that he knows Rufus and the others are fine.

* * *

It takes some time and I find myself sighing when I can't find anything unusual in the tests while Tseng grows silent after I hear him hang up. Then he walks over to the doorway of the room I'm in and leans against the frame while awkwardly voicing an apology in the only way that he knows how.

"I suppose… I should have put a little more faith in you."

"A little…" I sarcastically repeat while keeping my back to him and wondering why I would have expected him to say anything else.

Then he nods and looks at the floor.

"Don't make this difficult for me, Vince… After everything that Koerin told you I'm surprised you didn't offer to kill me yourself."

"The thought crossed my mind."

"Hm," he mutters. Then he walks over to my side and looks at the test results with a slight frown at the corner of his mouth before pushing me aside so he can look through the microscope in front of me, "These tests look fine… Are you sure he injected me with something?"

I don't really know what I'm sure of anymore but I nod as an answer anyway, and he continues to stare at the results before staring into space and tapping his fingers on the counter, still slightly shaky. Then he speaks as though he's wondering out loud if Koerin had injected him with something to slow his blood pressure down to keep Tseng alive for longer than he would have been in case he needed to use him again.

"It could explain why the poison didn't kill me when it should have," he muses before he tilts his head and brushes a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

"I'd rather have facts," I say, meaning it more at this moment than any other.

But he chooses to avoid that comment, knowing that there's nothing either of us can do about it.

"It could also explain why I was so dizzy… If not enough blood reaches the organs…"

"I'm aware of what happens when…"

"Well I wouldn't put it passed him," he quietly says, seeming to be more sensitive to the edge in my voice than he normally is while cutting me off as if something else is bothering him before he lets out a heavy sigh and straightens up like he's aware that he's losing his composure.

"My job has always been something that I felt I had control over… I always felt confident in making the decisions that I had to make even if I didn't agree with all of those decisions…"

Then he tiredly walks away while trying to explain something to me.

"But when it comes to other things, I'm afraid I'm not very good at making the right decisions."

He sighs after that and walks over to the window to stare at the flames again, as vibrant as they were from the beginning and he just stares at them like they're hypnotic.

"I thought for once that I could help someone other than myself… Maybe I could pay you back for what you've done for me."

"You're disappointed,"

"I am," he admits, "I know I never say it. Or that I rarely say it… But I do appreciate your company."

He takes a moment to snicker at his own words as if he's trying to hide any form of sincerity that they might carry while I find myself suddenly standing at the doorway and wondering how and when I got there to watch him from a closer distance.

"You've awakened so many things that I thought were dead…"

"You don't have to—"

"Let me finish, Vince… I feel I need to…"

After cutting me off, he takes a deep sigh and turns to look at me. Then he walks up to me with the need for composure and tells me that he regrets never telling Sephiroth how he really felt about him and that they fought far too much over Tseng's need to keep everything secret. He never felt more low than when he turned to Rufus after Sephiroth's death because of the things he never said.

"Of course this doesn't mean that I want to let everyone in the world know my faults."

"I never made that assumption."

"Hm."

With a thoughtful nod, he attempts to make light of his confessions and smirks insincerely.

"Well I'm afraid that I'm not very good at making the right decisions when it comes to my personal life in comparison to my professional one… I'm afraid I simply don't know what to do when it comes to matters of the heart… I'm in foreign waters with you and I'm afraid that you may not be the only person to ever make me feel as insulted, frustrated, and used as you often do…"

After not knowing how to take what he says other than an offhanded slap in the face, he brushes his hair back and remains as composed as he was before confusing me even more with his awkward admittances.

"I've also never let my guard down as much as I do when I'm with you. It's like I'm living another life when I'm around you—one that I'm unsure of and I find that no matter how much I try to reason things out in my head or try to set it in a logical order, I simply cannot for the life of me, Vince, understand how in the hell I've managed to let myself fall in love with someone as messed up as you."

Then he turns around, looks out the window without hiding his disappointment and starts to walk out while detachedly stating, "I just felt that I needed to say it," and all I can do is hang onto his words while ignoring the rest as I follow him.

All the while, he claims that going back to the Inn would be suicide since Koerin won't fully fall for the fact that he might be dead and that we're going to have to find another place to stay for the night, and he avoids anything that I might try to say by cutting me off every time I attempt to say it.


	28. Clash of Egos

**Clash of Egos**

* * *

**Sorry for the long wait. I've had the worst bout of writer's block and just couldn't make myself happy with anything that I wrote. So, here's version 4 of this chapter. Hope it's not too bad.  
**

* * *

He sticks to the dodgier parts of town, walking through the back streets and alleys to keep out of sight and every now and then he glances at the flames over the rooftops with an almost bitter twinge in his eyes. He claims he doesn't trust Koerin to believe anything without proof, and I find myself musing over the fact that Koerin mentioned that he mentored Tseng and learned from him, making me wonder how complicated the situation has a tendency to become if he's remotely close to being like him.

When we finally stop, it's near a run down motel that we approach from the alley and he frowns as if he's disgusted by the area and the choices that we're left with. All the while, he stays in the shadows while I try to stay more out of sight than him and I'm uncertain whether I'm doing it more for his own sake than for mine. Though I'm unable to pinpoint the exact moment that I started to care less about being seen than I am about the thought that he doesn't want to be seen with me.

A strange sense of therapy maybe—that I've become more open due to his relentless need to constantly remain closed.

"We can't keep at this all night," I finally tell him, low enough to remain inconspicuous and growing impatient at the fact that nothing is ever good enough for him and that we can't keep roaming the streets as endlessly as he appears to want to do. He may have been healed but I can tell by the tightness in his jaw that he's in pain. He's also paler than he usually is, almost like chalk, and his eyes are heavy, tired, and darker than they normally are while he continues to catch my attention with the subtle shake to his nerves.

Almost feeble, he looks, as he subtly nods and brushes a soiled strand of hair behind his ear with torn fingers before sneering and grumbling that, "There must be something better than this…"

"You've said that about every single one," I remind him, growing as weary as I'm suspecting he is and noting how his hand unconsciously twitches near the spot where he kept Sephiroth's gift before he frowns at the fact that he's lost it to the mansion.

All he has left is the locket and the gloves that were in his pockets. His weapons were all taken when we were captured, along with what appears to be a large portion of his pride and I find myself musing over whether or not it's the inner bruises that were left that are what's making him so difficult right now.

"Imagine what kind of beds are in that place…" he dryly comments with a slight snarl that grows as bitter as his eyes suddenly are. "How stained the bedding must be…"

"Would you rather sleep outside?" I ask, willing to get him a tent at this point if it will stop him from finding fault in everything.

But he repines that, "It couldn't be much worse…" before he sarcastically snickers and mutters, "according to what we can afford, perhaps the ground would be a step up."

Then he pats on the pocket where his wallet was, neither of us knowing the exact moment or location that he lost it and he grumbles again at the small amount of jewellery either of us is wearing and fully aware that I have no intention of parting with the chain around my neck. All we have besides it is the gold watch around his wrist and whether it's in spite to my own refusal, he makes no attempt to hide his reluctance to use it as currency.

Nor does he make any effort to hide his attachment to it as I watch him pull back his sleeve and toy with it like he's been doing since we left the lab, allowing the gold to catch the light of the old street-lamps before he sneers as if he's disappointed.

Then he takes a deep breath and sourly comments that, "I assume this place meets your standards."

"My standards…"

"Don't take it personally, Vince," he says, sensing the injury from his insult and bitterly snickering at his success as he pulls his sleeve down and stares at the back of the Motel, "But you can hardly disagree considering the dive you were staying at when I first met you."

_And you're so much better,_ I mockingly think, while staring at him through my bangs and wondering why in the hell he wants to get under my skin when he seemed so willing to want to make progress when we were back at the lab.

But trying to figure him out is about as easy as trying to answer the meaning of my life and my mind is quickly taken from it when out of nowhere, a Bandit comes from the shadows and aims his gun at Tseng. However, he doesn't appear to see me while demanding that he wants Tseng to give him all of his money and Tseng starts to laugh at him like he's genuinely amused.

"You have _got_ to be kidding," Tseng responds before the laughter ceases and he sneers at the man in disgust while he counteracts with whatever insanity seems to be taking over him, "I think you should give me all of _your_ money."

"What the hell are you doing?" I ask, low enough for only him to hear while I remain in the shadows behind him, hoping that the darkness can be used to my advantage if the situation gets out of control.

"We need money," he quietly answers, inconspicuously through the corner of his mouth while barely moving his lips. Then he takes a daring step toward the Bandit and I wonder if I should be paying much attention to the fact that I think he means what I think he means to do, and if I should intervene.

"You can't seriously expect me to believe that you're going to shoot me."

"What?"

"You're clearly inexperienced," he calmly says before setting his attention on the cigarette hanging out of the man's mouth and smirking at him, "and you reek of alcohol… I highly doubt you're capable of even shooting straight."

_Kjata,_ I think, wondering what kind of death wish Tseng is suffering from while I quietly reach for my gun without drawing attention to myself. All the while, the chemicals in my body recharge as if they were nothing more than adrenaline and I quietly cock the safety back on the gun while closing my eyes and trying to pretend that he's not planning on taking on a drugged and armed Bandit in the condition that he's in.

But I should know by now that he's not as predictable as he likes to pretend to be. The appearance is nothing more than an image that keeps him alive and the reality is the proof when the man becomes irate with Tseng and Tseng continues to mock him, ignore him, and act as if he's having nothing more than a casual conversation while appearing to accurately label the other man's emotional problems from birth to childhood, to now while telling him exactly what he thinks of him and daring him to shoot.

"Do you honestly think you can justify your actions simply because you're an idiot?" he calmly asks and takes another step forward like he genuinely doesn't care if the other man pulls the trigger or not, and I fight the urge to intervene and end the madness.

For whatever reason though, I don't know.

"You're pathetic," he says, and snickers at him. He almost looks like he's about to start circling the man as he takes another step toward him while continuing to dispassionately tell him what he thinks of him and appearing to be completely harmless in an act that appears to be nothing more than an egotistical dance.

"Shut up and give me your money!"

"No," Tseng answers, stopping and growing empty in his expression, and before anyone knows it, he strikes.

* * *

"Tseng!" I yell out, more out of an automatic reaction than anything else when the Bandit's gun goes off and the bullet misses, and Tseng tells me to "Shut your fucking mouth, Vince!" while slugging the man across the face and angrily stating that he doesn't want any attention drawn to him. Then he goes for the gun after initially knocking the wind out of the man by ploughing him in the chest with that steel-like hit of his.

But the Bandit's a struggler, stronger than he looks and giving Tseng the fight that he seems to be yearning for. And I'm suddenly wondering if that's what this is about. He's angry, agitated, and itching to have someone or something to take it out on, and he's dragging it out for all it's worth.

None of it sets my mind at ease though and Tseng seems to be playing more with the man than anything else, practically running circles around him before he finally knocks him out with the butt of the gun he took from him and I put my gun away with a growing distaste for the Turk right now.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" I testily ask as I step from the shadows and Tseng starts frisking the man before hitting him at the base of the skull three more times when the other man stirs.

"What are you talking about?" he carelessly breathes out, sounding overexerted as he goes through the Bandit's pockets and takes whatever money, jewellery, and other keepsakes he can find.

"He could have shot you."

"After everything that we've been through today—or the last couple of days, I hardly think being shot would have been the _worst_ thing that could happen to me," he mutters, sounding agitated again and nearly grinding his teeth while he talks.

All the while, he continues to dig through the man's pockets as if he's making sure that he's leaving the man with nothing and I wind up shaking my head at the fact that I have no idea why he's been getting moodier since we left the clinic.

"Ah…" he finally breathes out while I keep watch and wonder why neither of us heard the Bandit in the first place, or why no one heard the struggle between him and Tseng, and I ignore the fact that we're in a questionable part of town where most people are probably accustomed and unconcerned with the signs of a dispute.

But Tseng takes me away from my questions when he complains about the amount of Gil the man was carrying while sounding like he's talking with something in his mouth as I continue to look around. But at least he sounds happy when he mentions that he won't have to sell his watch before I hear the sound of a match being struck and the sudden smell of smoke from a cigarette.

"What the hell are you doing?" I ask, unable to hide the disdain when I turn around to see him take a heavy drag from one of the man's cigarettes and let it out like he's disgusted by the taste even though it doesn't appear to be the first time he's done something like that.

"What the hell does it look like I'm doing?" he responds and takes another drag before keeping the cigarette in his mouth and putting the Bandit's gun in his own holster. Then he puffs on it a couple more times while looking like he's put off by the taste as it hangs from his dry lips and he tucks his shirt in with both of his hands before pulling it out of his mouth.

"I'm stressed. I can't drink… nor would I choose to drink from something this vagrant's had his mouth on and there's nothing else for me to do to relieve the tension… So… Either deal with it or leave."

"Deal with it…?" I mutter, mindlessly repeating him before I wonder how many other bad habits he's going to slowly reveal if I remain with him any longer, not that the wonder is ever anything new. Then I shake my head to clear it out and my bangs fall farther into my eyes when I ask, "How long have you been smoking?"

Despite the physical facts though, he manages to continuously live in a world of unbelievable denial and casually states that, "I don't smoke," after taking another drag from it and flicking the ashes on the ground with his thumbnail like it's nothing new to him.

"What the hell do you mean you don't smoke?"

"Oh don't judge me on _that_, Vince," is his answer that comes out aggressively defensive before he suddenly becomes accusatory. "Of all the faults you've chosen to ignore, you're going to choose to focus on _this_ one?"

"What's gotten into you?"

"Fine!" he unexpectedly spits out, practically hissing at me and confusing me about what's triggered his reaction that strikes me as irrational and unprovoked, "You want me to put it out…? I'll put the damned thing out then!"

Then he throws it at the ground and angrily stomps on it while I stand there, staring at him and trying to figure out what the hell's going on. After that, he wipes at his upper lip as if he's sweating with a shake to his hand that he can't seem to control while his other one instinctively reaches for the spot where Sephiroth's weapon was again, and I find myself suddenly uncertain whether I should be feeling sorry for him or sorry for myself while he tries to calm himself down.

"I've worked under cover," he quietly says, appearing to try to regain some of the stature that he normally carries, "And sometimes… I would do it to fit in…"

"Okay," I say, strangely hoping that we can end a conversation that seems to be bringing out the worst in him, "I wasn't accusing you of—mph!"

The next thing I know, my back is suddenly against the stone wall of whatever building we're standing near and the stale taste of nicotine and tobacco has invaded my mouth in the form of Tseng's strange behaviour. Invasive, it feels, with his fists clenching into the front of my cloak to hold me in place while he openly violates me with a dominating kiss in a place not too far from the public eye.

Then he goes limp and buries his head into my shoulder when I push him back while attempting not to hurt him before he mutters that he thinks he's tired. He doesn't know what's gotten into him and he has no idea why he's acting the way that he's acting.

"I know," I mindlessly reply before resting my arm across the back of his shoulder in a sympathetic way and scouting our surroundings again, aware of the fact that I'm suddenly wary about someone seeing us together while I subtly stroke his shoulder with my thumb.

"Perhaps I need some sleep…"

He snickers then, shallow as it sounds, and he steps back before looking at me with a scrutiny that makes the uneasy feeling that he's been making me feel all night return. After that, he tilts his head and strokes the palm of his hand along the lower strands of my hair before stepping back farther and looking at me like he's suddenly thinking of something he's never thought of before.

"You know…" he coyly says before he pulls my cloak shut at the front, lifts my collar higher, and starts brushing my bangs down with his tattered fingers, "In this light, you could pass for a woman."

Then he steps back to get a better look at me and curls his finger over his upper lip before insultingly musing, "Perhaps not the most attractive one… a little too tall… but it's still a pass."

"What?" I suddenly ask, not really knowing what else to say and wondering why I'd even encourage him by asking before I brush my bangs back and open my cloak to state that I'm not going to go along with whatever kind of questionable scheme he's got going on in his head this time.

"Humble yourself, Vince… Your ego gets emasculated too easily."

_My ego…?_ I suddenly think, telling myself that his is no better and wondering if this is another one of his harebrained attempts to drive me away because he's got nothing better to do, "And yours doesn't?"

"Not quite like yours. I'm afraid that I can play whatever role I need to… But there is no complacency in your world."

And all the sudden I'm beginning to wonder if it was Tseng all along and not Jenova, or the truth about who or what he was that drove Sephiroth mad.

"I think you're mistaking me for yourself," I growl back at him, keeping my voice down when I hear a group of people walk by and hoping that he's not going to do anything else unpredictable in regard to the company that isn't too far away.

But he seems to want to remain as invisible as I do and he keeps his voice equally low, quiet, but more clear than the sound of a whisper, "Hardly… complacence is often required for what I do for a living, Vince… a little humility goes a long way…"

"You say that like you know how to be humble," I accuse, knowing damn-well that he's the most egotistical and arrogant man that I know.

"Oh," he casually says and adjusts the cuff on his torn shirt before sneering at the frays in the sewn edges, "I believe I know how to be more humble than you do… In fact, I'd hardly call becoming a martyr over my own mishaps humble."

"Thirty Years…" I growl, unable to stop myself while suddenly clenching my fists to stop myself from throttling him to death. Thirty years of my life lost and imprisoned does _not_ make me a martyr, I tell myself while biting back on the urge to say it to him since I suspect he'd find a way to mockingly retort and probably wind up dead over the matter. But I can't hold all of my thoughts back before I forget anything that I like about him and tell him, "You're a miserable; _empty_ shell of a man, Tseng."

"No," he casually says as I push myself from the wall and start walking away from him. Then I stop with my back to him when I hear him mumble to himself in a retiring way, "I'm afraid it's the other way around."

And all I can focus on is his pompous arrogance while I hear him sigh and take a few steps toward the motel in the opposite direction from where I am and I listen to what sounds like him nudging the Bandit with his foot to ensure the man's still unconscious while he toys with the locket that he carries.

Then he whispers something under his breath and starts to walk away with a steady and casual pace.

"_I don't constantly remind you of your losses…"_

"Stop," I mindlessly say while focussing on what he said as it rings through my head like a sharp echo, and all the while, I keep my back to him and listen to the halt of his steps without knowing what it is that I want to do or say. All I can seem to focus on at the moment is the sting that his words carry despite the numbness that I hunger for inside.

I'm not certain. But the best I can come up with is the fact that I frequently call Lucrecia's name—the mother of Sephiroth and the woman I still love—and I struggle against the reflex to grab at the chain when her name floods my thoughts.

Then I try to convince myself that it's not what's eating away at him. He's not the type to be jealous over something that he considers superficial. Nor is he the type that would hold my feelings for someone as a reminder over his losses, and I continue to stand there, numb, before I suddenly wish I could be as ill as I suddenly feel from the only other reason I can come up with while avoiding the urge to simplify things by asking.

"Kjata…" I mutter, not even caring that it comes out uncontrollably and no louder than breath when I wonder if the theory I've concocted in my head is a possibility, "I remind you of him…"

Then I turn to see him staring at me, cold and wraithlike, unmoving like the hardened stone that he often is. Eyes like charcoal hold no feeling as he stares at me deadpan, expressionless, and all he has to say in return is, "Don't be ridiculous, you're far more unkempt than he ever was and your hair is black."

"My hair is…?"

That's the best he can come up with for a distinction—That's my interpretation, and I react completely on instinct when I head straight for him and grab him by the arm to roughly escort him to the motel while grumbling without being able to hide the fact that I'm grumbling, "I'm nothing like him."

"True," he mumbles while trying to slow me down as he adds another distinction to falsely set my mind at ease. Or as I'm reading it, to mock my denial, "He liked to read."

"Sorry for not being as perfect and educated as your precious Soldier."

"What?" he asks as if he can't understand what could possibly be setting me off. Then he practically digs his heels into the ground and starts laughing at me when he slips out of my grasp.

"Goodness, Vince… All I wanted was for you to cover yourself up so I wouldn't have to check us into the motel as the two men that Koerin might be looking for if he returns, and you go completely insane!"

"What?"

"You went completely mad the moment I told you that you could merely pass as a woman…"

"I went mad?" I sarcastically ask, wondering what the hell it was that he was doing when he attacked the Bandit, smoked the man's cigarette, flipped out when I reacted to the surprise, and then tried to make out with me where anyone could have seen him do it.

"Yes, you started going on about how pretentious and insolent you think I am simply because I said that you needed to learn a little humility."

"I never said that."

"I wasn't born yesterday, Vince," he says before he subtly clenches his jaw and releases it from what I'm assuming is another sharp pain. "There are plenty of things that you think of me that you don't need to say."

"So you think you can read minds now…?"

"I don't need to read your mind when you spell it out in everything that you do."

Then he starts to go on about how he at least has the decency to let me know what he's thinking and how he at least has the decency not to call out some other woman's name during an intimate moment, or any moment for that matter.

From there, he trails off to how he's at least willing to let me know when something's bothering him and how he's not afraid to tell me that I'm an idiot, a harebrained imbecile, and a controlling egocentric maniac when I'm acting like one, "Just like _him_."

_Him…_

And suddenly I'm trying to think of a way to get out of this conversation while focussing on the fact that he had the nerve to call me an egocentric maniac when it's more than obvious that he's the one who has the denial issues.

Then I rack my brain over it, replaying everything so I can find some kind of ammunition—something to put the focus on when I dumbly conclude with the most useless of mannerisms that he started acting crazy when…

"That's what this is all about?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You've been acting crazy ever since we came to the last motel in this town," I steadily say, despite the underlying accusation in my tone when I add, "You've been looking for faults with every one that we've come across and now that you're out of options, you start acting like a spoon-fed impudent because you can't come out and say it."

"Say what?" he indignantly asks, contradicting the obvious fact that he doesn't really want to know the answer.

"That you don't want to check into the motel as two men."

And I know I'm right because he suddenly reacts as if I'd mentally slapped him before he snickers at me and sarcastically muses as if he's feigning the impression, "You are absolutely brilliant, Valentine—Did you come to that conclusion entirely on your own?"

"Stop with the rhetorical bull shit, Tseng… You were reluctant to sell the watch. You almost seemed relieved when you were held at gunpoint and when that didn't last long enough for you, you decided you'd try to drive me away by acting vulgar and repulsive in any form that you could come up with, and when that didn't work, you resorted to mindlessly rambling about humility to try to shame me into playing dress-up for you—"

"Rest it, Vince," he says before shaking his head at me like he thinks I'm an idiot, like he always thinks. Then he sneers at me to act as though he's disgusted by the fact that I'd come to such a ridiculous conclusion and he evenly tells me, "That's the most idiotic deduction you've come up with yet."

After that, he shakes his head again and turns to the motel so he can add more insult to the injury, "You'd be so homely of a woman that I'd be more embarrassed to check in with you dressed as one than if you were simply yourself—Not to mention that you lack the audacity to pull off such a feat in a convincing manner."

"Insolent prick."

Whether I'm playing into his manipulative hands or not no longer matters, and I grab him by the arm to drag him into the damned building against his will if I have to. All bets are off at the moment and I angrily brush my hair over my face, pull my cloak across my chest to hide the masculine form beneath it, and I lift the collar to hide the remainder of the features that could reveal my gender…

He's been playing me since the beginning anyway.

And I'm beginning to wonder if it's something I look forward to.


	29. Lemon Pie

**Lemon Pie**

* * *

"You're a jerk," I tell him, unaffectedly and causing him to smile when we enter the only room that was available. Then he lets go of my arm and goes straight to a worn out table by the bed and picks up a small menu with torn corners before subtly sneering in distaste at the appearance.

"If I was as horrible as you like to label me as, you would have left some time ago," he says with his back to me, and for some unknown reason, I feel like I did the first time I met him—on guard, uncertain, and drawn without understanding how he can coin his attitude the way that he often does.

At times I wonder if it's something that he does on purpose—some sort of morbid sense of humour that he gets off on. Yet during those unexplainable occasions that I want to look deeper, I can't help but wonder if it's more of a defence mechanism than anything else.

Why my thoughts always lean to memories of Lucrecia during my emotional analysis of Tseng though, I'm uncertain, and I flinch when my hand almost jerks to the location of the necklace before I regret the fact that he didn't fail to notice the subtleties with his sharp and often grating sense of observation.

However, I can't say that I blame him for the frustration he tries to hide, particularly after he admitted something I doubt he's happy to admit to back at the lab—be it from stress or a rare elevation of regrets. Regardless of his regrets though, I think he meant what he said despite how quickly he tried to avoid it afterwards, and what's worse is the fact that I think he believes he's alone in what he feels, maybe as alone as I often felt around Lucrecia and frustrated over the lack of response.

As a result of the thought, I find myself just as frustrated over my own lack of control over my personal thoughts and actions, and I furrow my brows behind the mask of my bangs when he frowns. Then he puts his head down like he regrets everything he blames me for and puts the menu back where he got it from while holding back whatever emotion he's capable of holding back.

Though he catches me off guard when he tries to hold back the animosity that I find obvious by his clenching jaw and when he fights the urge to bark through his teeth as he rubs his brow with damaged fingers, closes his eyes, and attempts to control what he says next.

"I'm tired, Vince… and if you dare say her name one more time tonight, I'll cut your balls off."

Then he adjusts his jacket and motions his hand to the bathroom with a slight sneer on his exhausted face while he lets out a mild snort.

"But first, I believe I'll sleep better once I've gotten all of this filth off of me and some food… I'm either starving or mad… but there's a lemon pie on that menu that looks appetizing…"

"Lemon pie…" I repeat, fighting off whatever bizarre urge I have to grumble about it and turn it into something that it's not by contradicting everything and telling myself that I'm not his damn servant and that I'm not going to be manipulated into getting him one while he silently shakes his head like he's more than aware of the childish and unprovoked thoughts going through my head.

And whether he says, "Don't put words in my mouth, Vince. I was simply stating that it looked good," to set my mind at ease or not, I'm not sure. Then he lets out a frustrated breath and adds with a retiring strain to his voice, "In fact, I'm already regretting that I brought it up."

Why I sneer at him out of some form of demented self worth that doesn't exist remains unknown though, and the question over why I continue to try to convince myself of his lack of worth while constantly arguing with myself about it eats away at me. Maybe it's because he's more right than I want him to be, more alert and more able to shut himself down by creating an imaginary world and a past that he'd rather live in—one that doesn't involve any of the truths that he hides from the public.

Or maybe it's the contradiction between those two that bothers me. Whether it's my own jealousy or a frustration at his obtuse behaviour…

Or both.

I know I could get angry over nothing again as I watch him take off the jacket and wince from some form of discomfort while I fix my own clothing and hair back to the way I prefer them. But I remind myself of how painless he made the process of checking in by keeping the attention away from me despite how ridiculous he made me feel and look, and I remind myself how he makes me question which one of us is the real martyr in the relationship while he walks into the bathroom with his hand over the spot where he was poisoned and closes the door, ignoring me the entire time like it makes things easier for him.

Then I stare at the menu and wonder how long it's been since he's eaten.

_'Lemon pie'…_

I doubt this motel has a decent enough kitchen for his standards though…

* * *

Knowing that he'll be a while and telling myself that I can do better than something that would probably give him food poisoning for whatever defiant reason I can't come up with, I unlock the window and make my way out through the shadows of the back—unseen for his sake—and I find a small tavern nearby that carries a scent more akin to Tseng's finer taste.

All the while, I keep my eyes and ears keenly on my surroundings, hoping to hear something about the mansion other than the fact that it's burning. Maybe I'm hoping to overhear something about Koerin and what his plans are. But there's nothing other than speculation and surprise and doomsday gossip spurred by the mansion's demise. It's to be expected from this town though, considering that the mansion has always been something more than a mansion to these people regardless of whatever shadows it's cast on their lives.

And as I wait for the food I ordered, I realize that I'm more aware of the environment when Tseng isn't around. I can see, hear, and sense things more clearly and I suddenly question how, when, and why he became such an overwhelming distraction.

When it's not anger that I'm feeling toward him its concern, and when it's not repulsion it's lust. Though most of the time, it's a combination of all four wrapped into one and I try with no success to give it a single label that makes more sense.

Every emotion that he stirs is at its basic and most primitive level. They become extremities that have no balance like flames that endlessly burn and quell only long enough to catch wind for the next round. It makes me wonder what the other side is like. I wonder how he's affected by my presence—my need to dominate and control him; to possess him if I'm so bold to admit to it.

Maybe I love him so much that I hate him, or the opposite, and I almost smirk at the thought before I catch myself with a gnawing concern over the possibility…

He's become a personal hell, something intense and growing, and something that I've been hungering for ever since the day my life was stolen from me.

_Penance or something more…_

And I can't satiate the temptation that he's become.

"Here's your order, Sir," the man on the other side of the counter says to me, breaking me from the thoughts that I lose myself in. He's short, round, and out of place with a glow to his cheeks and a strange sense of mature contentment—qualities not well known or inherent to the people of Nibelheim and it gives me a reason to suspect that he's not originally from here.

Maybe it's unimportant to focus on such things though. But I suspect it's mostly habit and I nod, place nearly everything that's left of our currency on the table before taking the bag in a thankful manner that appears forced, and I walk out with nothing more than a grunt and no tip—something that would have embarrassed Tseng and given him one more thing to fault on my part.

Unfortunately though, there's not much I can do about it even if I try.

* * *

When I make it back to the room and enter as stealthily as I left, he's sitting on the edge of the bed and digging through the bedside table like he's looking for something.

"Unbelievable," he grumbles before going over to the empty dresser across from the foot of the bed, damp hair bleeding into the shoulders and back of his dirty and torn shirt, and I focus on the translucency of the material—the scars underneath and the stained tear where the spider-creature stabbed him in the back. "Of all the places to stay, we had to wind up in the one that doesn't have anything."

"No amenities?"

"There was soap," he replies before calming down and returning to his usually cool self, "but it was obviously used." Then he turns around and looks at me like he usually does, distant and full of avoidance before settling on the food and cautiously relaxing his shoulders. "I thought you'd left for good."

"I figured you'd be hungry."

"Famished," he answers, still cautious while I hold the package toward him like a peace offering before he takes it and sits on the edge of the bed, confessing that he thinks we must have been in the mansion for over a day. Then he points at the clock on the small table by the bed to stress his belief while eating as if he was starving and talking with the food still in his mouth. It's uncharacteristic of him except for the fact that he went for the dessert first.

"We entered the mansion at twenty-one hundred hours… It's zero-one hundred now."

After that, he chuckles with a sarcastic hint and grabs one of the napkins that were packaged with the food to wipe at his mouth. Then he cocks his brow, shakes his head, and takes another bite before muffling out, "I find it rather hard to believe that only four hours had passed."

"Pretty good for timing," I emptily add, not putting much effort into the sarcastic jibe that he understands and snickers at. Then I attempt to undo the buttons on his shirt so I can take it off and assess the damage he'd taken while hoping that he's healing properly and frowning over the fact that he doesn't want me to take his shirt off.

As a result, I could repeat what I always do and stress the fact that I've seen him enough times already and that it matters no more now than it did the first time. But instead, I attempt to keep the mood light, more for his sake than mine as I calmly tell him, "I want to see the damage."

"Nothing worse than what was there in the first place," he says, muffled from the food in his mouth again and focussing more on a blank spot on the wall than anything else. It makes me wonder what he's not telling me this time, or what he's simply trying to avoid.

In many cases, his refusal to cooperate would ignite the hostile sparks between us and I frown over the mindless repetitiveness of it. But maybe I'm tired to. So I only cross my brows, get off the bed, and sit behind him to try a different method. Then I place my hands on his shoulders, fingers feeling the tense muscles under the skin and working to loosen them while knowing that it's the only thing that will tame him for a reasonable amount of time.

I even find myself instinctively breathing in his scent when he mistakenly lets himself moan and relax. Though the lavender and the cologne are both missing, replaced by a more antiseptic smell from the cheap soap that he had to lower himself to using and it makes him seem more masculine and hard. It's more of a reminder that he's everything I never would have cared for in the past.

I tell myself it shouldn't matter though and I remove my gloves while working my way down his back, feeling his sides and the muscles along the spine, solid, and being careful when I find the tender spots of the abuse he endured. All the while, I attempt to ease my mind when he completely chooses to ignore the fact that I'm carefully pulling his shirt out of his pants so I can lift it.

"It doesn't look that bad," he calmly tells me when I push it far enough so I can see the wound that poisoned him. Then he sighs and slightly turns his head with an effort he hides well, "Considering how much it hurt."

"Does it still hurt?" I ask before frowning over the fact that it's swollen and that red veins still branch outward from it. Though I take comfort in the fact that they're not reaching as far as they were, leaving only a small trace that's barely noticeable near his face.

"Compared to everything else?"

"Compared to everything else," I mindlessly repeat, sounding hoarse while I try to take my mind away from it by moving closer and wrapping my arms around his stomach so I can rest my head on his shoulder.

"It's near crippling," he casually says before he holds his fork in front of me to offer his food and behaves like he always does, mentally detached from the physical for as long as he can stand it.

"Is it getting any better?"

"A little," he answers as he smirks when I take the bite while not really wanting it. Then he turns as much as he can in my hold and stares at me with a softening look that's as rare as the way that Hojo looked at Lucrecia on occasion and he tilts his head before playfully stating as he dares to reach up and run his finger tips down my cheek, simply touching more than tracing or caressing, "Perhaps you'd like to help me take my mind off of it."

A little daring for him, I think, knowing that he rarely makes the first move while he pushes the food away and moves a little closer, eyes wandering while the rest of him appears empty. Then he moves as if he's cautious or uncertain and passes my mouth to press his lips against my neck by the ear, soft enough to create shivers and warm enough to awaken other parts of me while he awkwardly turns more in my arms and wraps his own arm around the back of my shoulders as if he only wants to hang on to me.

Then in a Wutian tongue, almost whispering and hungered, he tells me that, "I want to make love to you," followed by an almost nervous and weak snicker when he adds, "so badly."

As he says it, the arm that he's holding me with tenses as if he wants to cling to me or let out his frustration over the fact when he becomes more daring and says, "You have no idea how much I want to be your first…"

_If not the only one,_ I dumbly think when I think I should respond with something better, or even something worse rather than sit here and stay as still as the lifeless corpse that I am, numb. But I can't say or do anything to either encourage or discourage him and I grow so dead inside that the only thing I can focus on is the fact that he's speaking in Wutian, and I'm wondering if it's because it makes it easier for him to say what he wants to say.

And I'm wondering if I'm only wondering to take my mind away from the reality.

It's not the first time that he's said anything similar, despite the vulgar ways in which he generally chooses to express his desires. But it's the first time he's ever said it the way that he says it and I involuntarily stiffen when he keeps his face nestled in the crook of my neck and carefully removes his arm from my shoulders to rest his palm against the lower part of my ribs.

Whether it's reluctance or avoidance that makes me thoughtlessly utter out, "I thought you wanted me to leave…" as the best response is unknown though, and whether it's relief or uncertainty that I feel when he says, "I do…" before he presses his mouth to mine, tastefully invading and knocking the containers onto the floor when he moves in a more dominating way confuses me.

"I've never wanted someone to leave as much as I want you to leave."

He's still speaking in Wutian, I note, words twisting against whatever wanton desires he wants to conflict with as he moves his hand to release the buckles on my pants and I begin to wonder when he managed to get me onto my back as I simultaneously wonder when I lost myself enough to have already undone half of the buttons on his shirt while he moves above me in a momentous way, making me feel suffocated and almost giddy at the same time.

But no matter how much I want to give in to him right now, the knots start to form and the conflict grows with each touch, caress, and painful word spoken. And it leads me to wonder how willing Sephiroth was when I feel Tseng's calloused fingers carefully touch and explore, staying safe, unobtrusive, and moving slow for the time-being…

Where it comes from though, I don't know. Nor do I know how it starts. But there's a flash that invades my mind like white noise and nothing but the shades of blue to define the shapes. It makes me wonder what the trigger is—Tseng's touch, my own memories of those that I knew that he also knew, or something completely supernatural that only the dead can fall prey to as I see, hear, and feel something animalistic and reluctant and completely void of the present.

It can't be anything other than Sephiroth, I conclude, reminding me again that Tseng belonged to him first. All the while, another part of me feels Tseng's touch in the real world, gently coaxing as a contrasting and passionate Soldier in my mind slams the Turk's back into what looks like it could be a fridge and wantonly demands, "Make love to me," before ravishing the Turk's jaw-line and neck, and Tseng tries to push him away with a weak and unconvincing assertion while weakly breathing out, "I'm married…" as if it should be a good enough answer.

Or at the very least, a safe way out…

I'm assuming it had little effect though, and I attempt to shake it off while the fading sound of Sephiroth's voice counteracts with nothing but illogical desire, "Then let me make love to you…" as if the flip of a coin will make it all right and change the Turk's mind.

And I'm assuming it did.

Why though, from the flash that Tseng seems oblivious to at the moment causes me to focus on the question about why he no longer wears his hair tied back eludes me. Nor do I even know why I'm suddenly wondering if he's nothing more than a sacrificial lamb before I'm reminded that he's nothing more than a _'Deadly Tonberry…'_ and I wind up changing the roles in a heartbeat, no longer able to stand the thought of being dominated by someone like him, untrustworthy.

Unfair, maybe…

Unfair that he was so close to having me give in entirely and unfair that I'm lying to myself about the reasons while persecuting him for doing the same thing, and the fact that he finds it unfair as well shows when he makes no attempt to hide the frustration that burns through his veins over that knowledge, despite the fact that he gives in like it's too late to stop what he started.

But there's a repercussion and a price that I pay for the hell that I conjure, like always. His eagerness drops and I wind up having to remove the rest of my clothes and his on my own before I throw my dominating will at him like so many other times while mindlessly telling him to, "Wrap your legs around me," only caring about my own need to find release through him and not caring about his, and feeling guilty over it just the same.

All the while, I attempt to justify my actions by telling myself that it's my own need to claim ownership over Sephiroth's. Though I wonder if there's any truth to it as the last of Lucrecia's son fades away with a darkening chuckle like he's won something over me. Though I suspect that it's something more secret than I'm aware of.

There's nothing he could have won though, I tell myself while Tseng mutters, "Gentle…" in a way that sounds like he's lost interest while keeping his eyes closed and his head turned to the side, succumbing to something he doesn't really want to succumb to but succumbing nonetheless.

Then a hand runs down my side in a semblance of boredom and feigned interest, lacking the desire that he often expresses and lacking the desire to explore what he's often eager to explore. It's more coaxing in a way that tells me to 'Hurry up and get it over with,' even though he doesn't say it or even attempt to stop it.

Whether it's from guilt or something else that burns in me, I don't know. But I try everything within my ability to resurface the desire he expressed before I took control, and I do everything I'm capable of by ensuring that I maintain that control while exploring and giving more attention to him than myself.

And I reap the satisfaction when Tseng's touch grows more wanton with each careful thrust and more mindless with each uncontrollable breath while I press my mouth to his shoulder like I want to coax the scars away from him and free him from a prison neither of us has any control over.

All the while, the hatred that I want to feel for him wanes and the passion quiets from the satiation of the act, and I'm reminded of how terrified he suddenly was when Koerin mentioned experimentation and how, for the first time since I've known him, Tseng outwardly expressed genuine panic that seems to have left its mark even now.

And I wonder if this is how it's always going to be for him or if this is how it's always been while he jaggedly breathes beneath me, rested and tired now, and I reach down to hold his hand as if I can offer some form of comfort through the action. His nails are torn and broken. His fingertips look sore and red, and I recall how he literally dug them into the floor like an animal while mindlessly screaming. I recall what Koerin said about Hojo having an experiment planned with Tseng's name on it and how it outwardly affected the obscure Turk beneath me.

"…_He's downright disturbed by the mere thought of experimentation on living beings."_

"What's you're biggest fear?" I calmly ask, unable to hide my curiosity and sounding as tired and gruff to myself as he looks to me, and I pull his hand closer to my mouth to kiss his fingertips as gently as I can. Then I turn my attention to him to see that he's emptily staring at me, silently and with no intention of answering.

He's afraid of being like me, I think, before I kiss the corner of his mouth and wonder why he puts himself at a heavy risk for an empty supremacy. And I wonder how many other dangers he's willingly faced for nothing and how much more he's willing to endure before it claims him. Then I rest my weight more evenly over him and bury my face in his neck.

There are too many things I could say to him right now—so much more I could even ask as well as apologize for. Yet the best I can come up with as a substitute for telling him what I think I really feel for him is, "I want you to leave the Turks," in a way that suggests there's no room for debate.


	30. Dreams of Conspiracy

**Dreams of Conspiracy**

* * *

He stays quiet and stares at the ceiling like he didn't hear a word I said, long enough for me to regret it before he has the chance to say anything. Then he lets out a heavy sigh, pushes me off of him in a tired way and turns his back to me while calmly stating, "I have no desire to be in your possession forever, Vince."

"That's not what I said."

"No," he firmly answers before grabbing at the sheets to cover himself while curling his arm under the pillow to suggest that he'd rather go to sleep than entertain my ridiculous antics for the rest of the evening.

"Tseng—"

"I said no," he says again, adamant about not wanting to discuss it any further and causing me to react by angrily sitting up while fighting the temptation to yank the blankets away from him when he grips into them so I won't pull them away with my bohemian movements.

"You won't even discuss it?"

"There's nothing to discuss," he says, like he can't believe that he has to say it before he sits up to face me and stares at me like I'm mad, "You know how I feel about my job, Vince—It's—"

"The only thing you think you can do right," I interject.

"And as for you wanting me to run away—"

"I'm not asking you to run away from anything—I'm asking you to—"

"What…? Give up everyone and everything I know for someone that can't even call me by my own name half the time?"

"Kjata…"

"I'm not yours to control!"

"What the hell is the matter with you?" I angrily ask him when he starts to get up and I grab him to pull him back down. Though I wasn't anticipating him to hit me across the face, hard enough to make my lip bleed the taste of chemicals into my mouth. Then I growl out something unintentional and thoughtless before wiping at my mouth, not even thinking about a possible consequence when I say, "You really are a miserable Tonberry."

"What?"

Calm…

He couldn't have said it more calmly, causing an unwelcome chill to crawl up my spine.

Though to contradict the stoic façade in his voice, his reaction suggests I'd just shot him, pale as he suddenly is. Ghosts wouldn't recognize him as a separate entity as he stands by the bed and stares at me like Sephiroth's sword was never pulled from his back, both hands gripping over the scar that reminds him of his lover's betrayal.

His eyes are empty though, staring at me like he's looking right through me and during this moment, I literally curse myself for saying something so personal if he hasn't done it to me already.

And all I can focus on right now are those charcoal eyes of his, deep pools of obsidian framed by thick lashes and well-groomed brows. Then he takes a stumbling step backwards and hits the floor as if his legs gave way, causing me to react on nothing more than reaction as I leap to his aid in a sudden panic.

"Kjata!"

* * *

"_Sir, reviving him is too risky."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because the infection could spread…"_

"_I thought I told you that I didn't care about that… If it becomes apparent that it will do what it did before we'll simply have to put him down and start over again!"_

* * *

It's just like before only different this time as I feel reality slip away the moment I touch Tseng to check his eyes. I can only hear voices and the sound of Tseng's breath, and if I set more focus on him, I can even hear the sound of his heart beating. It's a low and steady sound that leaves no cause for alarm as I hear the dull and distant thud of my own body hitting the floor beside him—suddenly unable to move from the unknown void that restricts me.

All black, save for the obscure pain in my gut that emanates outward as if I'd been impaled by…

* * *

'_You have no idea how much I love you…'_

"_I thought you finished reading that book."_

"_I did."_

"_Twice in a row… It must be good," Tseng muses as he sits on a black leather sofa beside his lover, both of them dressed casually. Then he takes a sip of his tea before putting it down._

"_It's tragic and alluring," Sephiroth offers without taking his attention from it and flipping to the next page._

"_Alluring?"_

"_Like you."_

"_Mm… Speaking of tragic," Tseng comments with a wry smirk as he loosens the tie holding his hair in a high tail to let it down, "we found the bodies…"_

"_I thought you weren't allowed to discuss classified information."_

"_It's been discovered by the media."_

"_I see," Sephiroth mutters before closing the book and letting out a heavy sigh. Then he sets his focus on the front of Tseng's partially done up shirt with a small sign of approval, "What did they find?"_

"_Exactly what I suspected."_

"_Which was…?"_

"_They were the victims of an experiment."_

"_Hm."_

"_Mm…" Tseng mutters, almost in a trance, "I think I'd rather be dead than live through what they lived through… No humanity was left…"_

"_Mm," Sephiroth mumbles before crossing his ankle over his knee and placing his arm around Tseng's shoulder while teasingly musing, "I guess it's a good thing you already are a monster."_

"_Seriously… I wouldn't want to live if I was no longer myself."_

"_Then I'll make sure it never happens."_

* * *

It's cold, the way that Sephiroth said it, and it's colder still the way that Tseng accepted it like they were simply planning out their grocery list, never realizing that it was going to happen to one of them when Sephiroth casually returned to his book while holding his lover with his other arm and Tseng casually took a sip of his tea before turning his attention to his lover's book and reading it with him.

A side I never would have expected from either of them. It was affectionate and ordinary, almost chilling to think of how it ended. Once again, I hear the words I've heard spoken before as Sephiroth's voice echoes like a distance inside of my head.

"_It's not what you think," _he says before I hear a more real voice pull me out of wherever I am, murmuring but legible at the same time.

"I loved my wife…"

"What?" I mindlessly ask, groggy from an indescribable swoon before I turn to see Tseng lying beside me with his eyes closed.

"My wife…" he answers when I turn to the clock to see that we must have been laying here for almost an hour, "I loved her…"

_Talking in his sleep,_ I think, and I turn to him and lightly brush his hair from his face while thinking that he's never done that before. Then I lean toward him and press my mouth to his forehead, cool, dry, and I simply stay like that, eyes closed while whispering in a husky growl, "I never thought otherwise."

Then he turns over, pushing me slightly and hopelessly breathes out that, "I deserved what she did."

I don't ask though, fearing that it would be pushing things too far before he opens his eyes and looks at me like he's confused. Then he looks at himself, naked and wrapped in a sheet, and me as bare as the day I was born before looking at the bed and knitting his brows.

"I take it we had sex," he says before putting his head back and staring at the ceiling. "Why the bed wasn't good enough…"

"It started there," is all I tell him before he snickers at the thought and I frown without him noticing. Whether I'm doing the right thing by playing along with whatever it is I'm suddenly playing along with, I don't know. I struggle though, mostly at the fact that he seems to have genuinely blocked out everything that happened before he passed out, and I struggle over the fact that it's not the first time.

Though it's not the first time that I haven't said anything about it as I search my mind for a possible pattern or cause and notice that it tends to happen when certain memories of his are triggered. And as much as I don't want to face the possibility, it makes me wonder if he was tampered with somehow. But it also makes me wonder why his colleagues seem to be unaware of it.

And for a while, I simply stroke the hair near his temple with my thumb, studying him in the dim glow as he stares blankly at the ceiling and appears confused while he brushes off any anomaly with the typical logic that makes me want to pull my hair out.

"I honestly didn't think the dosage for those painkillers was that high."

"Pain killers…?"

"Mm… I must have underestimated my condition…"

He sighs then and turns his attention to me while appearing awkward and youthful in the low lighting and I find it easy to look past the dark circles under his eyes, the hard line of his mouth, and I almost forget about my growing concerns for him and the fact that I'm taking a twisted form of relief in the fact that he's completely forgotten about the argument that almost started between us.

"Don't you mean overestimated?"

"No… I mean underestimated because the dosage was harmless," he answers as he struggles to get up and I stay out of his way. "Yet it appears to be having more of an effect on me than I thought it would."

After that, he sits with his knees bent, rubs at his temples, and looks around the room while awkwardly snickering and adjusting the sheet to cover himself better, "After all, I'm not sure I can recall a time I've had no recollection of… well… except for the time that you…"

_…Took advantage of him in Kalm,_ I silently finish, and I clench my teeth while fighting the urge to help him from the floor as he locates his pants and goes straight for them. Then he digs through the pockets and finds the handful of pills that he took from the lab and examines them closer than he did when he took them.

After that, he quirks his brow and comments on the fact that he's at a loss and sits on the bed, dropping his pants carelessly to the floor and sighing while I continue to sit there with a growing dizziness and a strangely washed out image, like static, of Tseng, Sephiroth, and Hojo in something that looks like a lab.

* * *

"_Sephiroth! Keep him still if you want me to help him! Or better yet, knock him out!"_

"_I can't do that!"_

"_Well you need to do something! He's reacting to the mix… er… Don't worry…! Anyway, he won't remember a thing about you holding him against his will if that's what you're worried about!"_

* * *

"What's the matter?" Tseng distantly asks, careless-sounding as he fixes the sheets on the bed to make it more to his liking. All the while, I sit there with my hand pressed to the side of my head and wonder if I did or said anything out of the ordinary.

"Nothing," I say while dizzily shaking my head again and staring at the scars on his shoulders where the sheet doesn't cover.

"Hm…" he mutters as he turns around and sits on the bed before staring down at me with a strange concern. Then he gets on his knees and crawls over to me while commenting that, "You don't look well… Are you sure you're all right…?"

"I don't… Don't touch me!"

* * *

"_Jen—"_

"_I don't like keeping secrets from him."_

"_He's a Turk, Sephiroth… Certainly you can see why the two of you are an issue."_

"_You're beginning to sound like him."_

"_Hehehe… Well I'm afraid the two of you are simply incompatible."_

"…"

"_You're genetics are different… You're a high-class of Soldier—Mako and… er… other… 'enhancements'… Well let's just say that his symptoms are making it very clear that he's the more… 'passive' one in the relationship—"_

"_Our relationship is none of your concern."_

"_I'm afraid that it is… and I'm afraid that I'm going to have to urge you to stop seeing him."_

"_Do what you must to make him better."_

"_Don't change the subject—Sephiroth! Get back here!"_

* * *

"Vince!"

Tseng's sharp voice snaps me back while he simultaneously snaps his fingers in front of my face and makes me feel dizzy as I wearily bat his hand away. Then he frowns at me and pulls me to my feet while muttering something about being concerned that the only chance he thinks he had to help me with whatever problem I have is now gone.

But I'm only half listening to him as he sits us both on the edge of the bed and pushes my bangs from my eyes to get a better look at them. Though I wonder why he bothers when he knows there isn't much to tell, and I find myself studying him back while trying to make sense out of what the hell just happened or is happening while I hear a continuing murmur of conversations from some other time and place in my head, and I constantly replay the parts that don't make sense to me.

"Vince…" he says again, cupping the side of my cheek with his palm and tilting his head as if to look for reassurance.

"You… were poisoned…"

"Yes."

His answer is confused as he reminds me about the spider creature in the mansion, unaware that I'm referring to something completely unrelated as he shakes his head in search of clarity.

"No…" I say while doing as he does in hopes I can clear out my own head, "Mako…"

"What?"

"Mako-poisoning…"

"I highly doubt that thing poisoned me with mako," he states with a strangely quiet snicker before he quirks his brow and moves away from me.

Then he turns slightly paler when I tell him that I'm not talking about recent events by saying, "No… before… you were in a lab from Mako poisoning…" while subtly shaking my head to let my bangs fall back into my eyes as if it's easier for me to deal with the situation by hiding from it at the same time.

"A hospital…" he corrects, "I…" with a slight hesitation, he turns his attention to his torn blazer that's lying on the floor and looks as though he's falling distant before he curls his forefinger over his mouth and takes on a darker look while muttering something that I can barely hear.

"Marina…" I think he says, a hoarse whisper that causes him to clear his throat. Then he closes his eyes and asks, "How long have you known about that?"

It's the typical accusation that burdens me. Whenever I bring up anything from the visions, he thinks it's because I've managed to 'dig for dirt' on him.

'You were a Turk…' is what he usually says as a way to convince himself that the truth has no substance. Then he'll find all sorts of conspiracies regarding why I'd want to dig into his past while dismissing anything I might tell him about the dreams as being a poor excuse if not an insult for assuming he'd believe in something so ridiculous.

He doesn't start with the tangent this time though. Instead, he continues to stare at his blazer where the locket is, and I turn my attention to the surface of the bed with nothing but blank thoughts, partially thankful that the resentment isn't there this time.

"It was a long time ago…" he says while I feel myself start to drift again as if hypnotized by the sound of his voice and directed by his words, "Saity… My daughter… She was only three years old… and Marina and I were going through a rough patch. She thought I was—"

"Having an affair," I mindlessly say, still focussing on the bed while he clears his throat and awkwardly shifts.

He doesn't deny it though, suggesting that I'm guessing right while he falls silent for a moment, allowing the conversation in my head to fall clearer. It's a conversation between Tseng and his lover from what I can tell.

* * *

"_What are you doing here?"_

"_I was concerned."_

"_I thought I told you to stay away."_

"_Tseng…"_

* * *

My focus shifts the moment Tseng speaks again though, telling me that he was sent on some kind of assignment that he doesn't elaborate on and that there was some kind of accident near one of Shinra's refineries.

"I couldn't just stand by…" he says, falling distant again, "There were people inside and I couldn't just…"

* * *

"_You nearly got yourself killed…"_

"_My wife is probably on her way down here—"_

"_I don't care about your wife!" Sephiroth hisses, "You're not immortal—"_

"_You have to leave."_

* * *

"I woke up in the hospital on the Plate afterwards," Tseng says, making me wonder how much I missed between what he's not saying or what I'm not listening to, "Apparently I suffered from a mild case of Mako poisoning."

"Apparently…" I mindlessly repeat while unconsciously scratching at the surface of the bed with the hand that I usually cover with my gauntlet.

"Mm," he mumbles before turning his attention to me and subtly pulling at my arm to suggest that he wants to hold my hand. Despite the mask of affection that he hides the action behind though, I know the real reason that he does it while he intertwines his fingers with my own and he breathes out like he's suspicious of his own past.

"I don't remember anything that happened in between then and the hospital…"

"Nothing?"

"No…"

* * *

"_Leviathan… Seph… I'm trying to patch things up with Marina…"_

"_You're not in love with her."_

"_No… It's you that I'm not in love with. Now do us both a favour and leave before she gets here."_

"_Sit back down. You're not well enough to stand right now."_

"_It's Mako poisoning, Sephiroth… not a bloody plague."_

* * *

"I think…" I mindlessly mutter while the sound of a thud resounds in my head like the sound of someone falling before images start to clearly form and Tseng's voice sounds like he's in another room…

"What?"

* * *

"_You're a stubborn bastard, Tseng…" Sephiroth says, looking down by a hospital bed at a black-haired man on the floor. His jaw is clenched underneath a sullen frown and he kneels down to aid the man._

_Tseng…_

_He's wearing a pale garment provided by a hospital and his hair is much shorter than it is now, tapered at the back with longer bangs in the front, much like my own hair used to be. But his part is on the opposite side. The skin exposed from the garment is flawless, save for a subtle tint that hints at a case of too much Mako in the veins, a symptom I've seen on would-be Soldiers that were intolerant to the process._

_I can only assume that he'd passed out, possibly by ignoring Sephiroth's warning and standing when he shouldn't have, and I watch as Sephiroth adjusts the part of Tseng's garment that slipped to expose his hip in a strangely compassionate manor. Then he takes off his glove and runs his ring finger over Tseng's brow, tracing it with a conflicting combination of admiration, anger, and guilt._

_Then he smirks with a strange look of relief when Tseng stirs, still carrying the misleading combination of emotions before leaning to kiss the man on the lips as the door opens to reveal a woman holding the hand of a small child…_

* * *

"How did Marina find out about your affair…?" I mindlessly ask as Tseng taps me on the cheek with his palm to make sure I'm still with him and I make every effort to focus on him.

But all I can focus on is Sephiroth's pale green eyes, staring coldly at the woman—shameless and without pulling away from Tseng. Then he turns his cold attention to a pair of legs behind her, partially covered by the bottom half of a lab coat as a shrill and familiar snicker echoes through my skull.

It would have turned deafening if it wasn't for Tseng breaking me away from it when he answers, "I have no idea."

Then he gets up and turns his back to me while smoothing his hair back and adds with an attempt to hide the emotional mixture that the question spurs, "I never got the chance to ask her."

After that, he awkwardly snickers and lifts his hand partially away from him before dropping it back down and asks, "Is that what you've been doing for the last hour…?"

_Hour…?_

"Attempting to reason out a new fantasy about how Sephiroth may have ruined my life so that you can feel better about yourself?"

"I think you were set up," I tell him while brushing off the feeling that he's accusing me of ruining his life in a roundabout way.

"Of course you do, Vincent," he says. Then he turns and sits on the edge of the bed to stare down at me while wiping at his upper lip.

"Vince…" I correct.

"Mm… Well, I suppose I should be thankful that it's Sephiroth that you're fantasizing about this time…"

"I don't fantasize about her," I dully answer before I sit up and place my forearms over my knees and wonder why we always return to the same circular argument while frowning over it. Though I'm partially thankful that my head is clearing up enough for me to question it and I'm partially disappointed that I don't have whatever it is to escape to.

All the while, Tseng continues to stare blankly at me as if he's not plagued by the usual thoughts and accusations that he likes to throw at me over Lucrecia and how he believes that he's only a substitute for her. Then he subtly shakes his head at me and frowns while I continue to work out a way to make light of what's going on.

Yet all I can focus on is the fact that I don't know where to start before I set my sullen attention onto him more clearly by pushing my bangs slightly to the side so I can see him better as he remains wrapped in the sheet, almost looking vulnerable to me, soft. Though he never hesitates to disprove that vulnerability, be it through cruelty or force, and he always fails miserably in my eyes.

"Can't we have one conversation that doesn't turn into an argument?" I ask, pulling myself from an admiration I don't want to feel while feeling it just the same and ignoring the words in his reply.

"I don't think that's possible."

"I do," I say as I push myself from the floor and sit beside him, somewhat hesitant in how I want to say what I want to say. But it comes out anyway.

And I wind up telling him about the growing suspicions and the hypnotic lapses again, and the fact that I want to know more about what happened to him back then and how everything changed while part of me suspects that there might be an answer somewhere that I never thought of before.

And much to my surprise, he answers my questions and gives thought to my own thoughts in a more agreeable manner than he normally does. He even leans into me and rests his head near my shoulder while he tells me that the incident with the Mako reactor was at Nibelheim.

Why it suddenly bothers me though, I don't know, and I can't seem to reason out the strange churning—almost like Chaos—in my gut when he tells me that he ran into the reactor to help some of the men that were trapped.

"Did you get to them in time?"

"I was told that I saved their lives," he calmly tells me before lying down and staring at the ceiling, "but all I recall is running in and waking up on the Plate over a month later."

"Were you on the Plate the entire time?"

"No. The doctors said there wasn't enough time to bring me back initially. So they kept me in Nibelheim until I was well enough to be moved to Shinra's infirmary."

Despite that it's another hole in his life, it feels like he's telling me the truth instead of leaving something out this time and I wind up putting my arm around him when he tells me that he attempted to find his records out of curiosity. But there were none to be found.

"Much like the incident at the Temple…" I mutter, suddenly wondering if there were more answers in the mansion than what we came looking for and silently sinking over the fact that my ability to help him is no more efficient than his is to help me.

He's mindless of my thoughts though, and he snickers and intertwines his fingers with mine. Then he quickly brings my hand to his mouth and pecks at my knuckle before dispassionately turning over and tiredly muttering something that drops an unsettling weight somewhere inside.

"Not quite…" he says, "I was only unconscious then… not dead…"


	31. Vagabonds

**Vagabonds**

* * *

Maybe if I try hard enough, I can will it to happen.

I never thought of it before. But when Tseng reminded me of the difference between Nibelheim and the Temple, I'm suddenly reminded of an old Wutian belief. It's a myth or a fabricated superstition is what Tseng would probably call it.

Maybe I would have gone so far as to agree with him at one time too. But I'm not so sure about what I believe anymore.

It was more than thirty seven years ago, the last time that I was in Wutai as a Turk. I was there with my partner at the time and it probably would have been for much longer if it wasn't for one careless night where he dropped his guard at a crucial moment.

At the time I was angry.

When I found him, the upper half of his body was face-down in the waterways and there was a crimson pool flowing from him and mixing with the clear liquid. He'd been stabbed multiple times in the upper torso, mostly in his back which led me to believe he was attacked from behind. His wallet was gone and so were his weapons, and I wound up carrying him to the only medical unit in town that would help us since all the others refused us and fed into the animosity that I felt by the time we arrived at the opposite end of town from where we started.

It was an unnecessary trek in my mind, and even to this day, I continuously ask myself if he could have been saved if he'd gotten the attention he needed sooner.

But he was on his last breath when I found him despite what denial tells me, and I wound up getting into an argument with the doctor when he told me they didn't carry Phoenix Down or Revive Materia anywhere in the town.

"What are you talking about?" I demanded, "This is Wutai. No other place on the planet is greedier for Materia than your people!"

Unless it's Tseng, I suddenly think, reflecting on how he prefers the Material over the Materia and breaking away from my thoughts for a moment to brush his hair from his face while he stirs in his sleep. Yet I'm reluctant to touch him even though I want nothing more than to test my growing theory at this moment.

But instead, my thoughts fall back to Wutai and I fall back to the Doctor. However unlike other times, my focus slips from his temper and what I interpreted as a refusal to help, and it locks onto what he said, having never paid much attention to it in the past as he ignored my presence and tended to a young boy with bruises on his face and a cut on the back of his shoulder.

All the while, I made no attempt to hide the embitterment over the fact that the boy was worth more of his attention than my partner was.

What he told me though, makes me wonder now while I mindlessly comb the ends of Tseng's hair and stare blankly at the back of his shoulder, lost in the scars that go further back in time than I can ever guess and tracing over a small one, older than the rest, while remembering.

It was something about the dead—a superstition, I thought. It had something to do with linking to those that crossed over and how it was considered to be a curse. What he said to me in Wutian roughly translated to something about broken souls and a fragmented existence, and for a moment I catch myself letting out a sarcastic snort while Tseng stirs uncomfortably in his sleep and I think about the similarities of what he said to my own existence.

Broken… Fragmented…

It isn't just frowned upon by the Wutians. The mere thought of being resurrected is a threatening concept to them. It's like a curse that can't be broken and I think I understand it more than I want to now. But there is more than just believing in omens. According to the people of Wutai, those that have crossed over can't break the link that was created between this world and the next.

In turn, it causes a pull that can either be enchanting or haunting through a portal that creates a greater relation between worlds. It allows those that have past access they normally wouldn't have, allowing them to communicate; even to touch in extreme cases…

"_Stay away from him, Vincent…"_

And I suppose that it goes both ways when I think about my experiences since I met Tseng, and I wonder how much truth lies behind the doctor's words as I unconsciously rub at my throat while thinking about how real it felt when Sephiroth was choking me in what felt like a dream.

Naturally, I dismissed what the Wutian said as nothing more than urban legend at the time while the child appeared to almost snicker at my defiance as the doctor stitched up the boy's shoulder. The boy never looked at me though—he only listened while he stared at the floor.

All the while, he hid behind ragged bangs that looked like they were cut by dull scissors, depicting the sign of poverty. Then he quickly changed his expression to a subtle sneer when the doctor pulled too sharply on the thread as he finished, suddenly striking me as something familiar while I shift my divided focus back to Tseng when he coughs in his sleep.

Of course I remained stuck on the idea that Wutai was the only place in the world that believed in such nonsense, both verbally and mentally, and I continued to counter each of his excuses with the fact that I disagreed.

Though nothing I said gained me any success and the shying boy seemed to withdraw as if he were recoiling from my aggressive nature before the doctor demanded that I leave, gaining me nothing but more contempt than I already had for the Wutians.

When I think about it now though, I wonder if I didn't gain something more, something to think about now.

But the best I can come up with is that maybe we're both linked since I suspect I'm not the only one that's trapped, and I chance what I've been reluctant to do since the thought struck me.

Whether my hesitance is from fear of being right or fear of being wrong though, I'm uncertain. Yet either way if I'm right, then maybe there's a way I can control it, and I hesitate only briefly before I place my palm on Tseng's shoulder and focus on the only thing I can focus on at the moment.

Perhaps it isn't the best of what I have to choose from. But the mystery is no different from anything closer to the present, and Tseng's mishap at Nibelheim seems like it's as good of a place to start as any other place.

What happens next though, isn't what I'm expecting…

* * *

It's not Tseng's world, his past, or his future. Nor does it have anything to do with Sephiroth or anyone else in passing that matters. All it has to do with is me—my own past, my own world, and my own coffin.

I have no idea when the lid was sealed or even if it was me when I wasn't myself, or if it was someone else that did it while I was sleeping in my own despair, escaping from the reality and the nightmare that it became. All I know is that it was closed when I opened my eyes and that I didn't care about it either. Nor did I even bother to test the strength of how well or poorly it was sealed.

There was nothing but darkness to keep me company and whether it was due to my wallowing state or the fact that I had grown beyond empty, I wound up taking comfort in it, knowing that it's where I should have been anyway.

Yet the lack of silence might have been what woke me as distant as it appeared. It was the one voice that made my blood curdle in ways I fear to mention. Yet dully, the only thought I barely had the strength to entertain was the fact that there must have been a vent running from the room he was in to the dungeon he'd confined me to and that he was either talking to himself or into his recorder.

Neither possibility really mattered to me though, and I tried to brush it off like the ticking of a clock during a sleepless night and just like the ticking of a clock, the effort only grew more futile as the shrill sound of Hojo's voice scraped at the insides of my bones as he went on about how excited he was to get his hands on 'The subject…'

_Some poor and unsuspecting fool,_ I gathered.

"Valentine's research will come in handy," he said, making me believe that he was referring to my father before he lowered his voice and commented on how curious he was to see how whatever it was he was talking about would react with such a curious strain of Jenova, "Rare, indeed…

"It's unfortunate that I don't have the time I'd like to spend on this though, and I must make that transfusion soon… before anyone finds out…

"Perhaps… if I use… Hm…

"I'm afraid I'll have to mix it with something to make it look more convincing… Those last samples I took were nearly void of red blood cells and Sephiroth's blood… Well, I suppose he's the reason I've come across this discovery in the first place, hehe…

"Very intriguing… Indeed…

"Unfortunately, I'm not going to be able to collect any data… Perhaps… at a later date… we can continue… But for now…"

Whatever the hell that madman was talking about mattered little to me, even the mention of my father's name had no affect. I couldn't even be bothered reflecting on the fact that I would have been livid about what I was overhearing at one time.

At the time though, all that did matter was the fact that I just wanted him to shut the hell up so I could go back to sleep without having to listen to his grating voice with little to no care for whatever he was planning on doing to his next victim.

"Hopefully this will work… or at the very least, stall the infection long enough to leave my name in the clear...

"Not that it really matters, hehe… I do have to admit that I'd be more than happy to see what the results are going to be sooner than later—"

* * *

_"I'm serious, Seph… I don't think I'd want to live if I was no longer myself."_

_"I'll never let that happen."_

* * *

_No…_

Suddenly regretting what I think I'm regretting, I find myself sitting up and staring into the darkness with a mind-numbing sensation while wondering if there was more behind the reason that Sephiroth stabbed the man he supposedly loved, and I'm wondering if it was at all possible for him to still be in love with the man even after he'd lost his mind.

A chill crawls up my back when I think about the possibilities and avoid the answers to the questions I don't want to deal with, and I cross my arms in front of me as if to warm myself, suddenly thinking about the repetitive visions of the snow and almost feeling it, seeing it… and Tseng…

He looks almost like he does in the vision, almost too pale to be alive. Though I take comfort in the fact that he's breathing, warm, and murmurs something illegible before turning over with a slight grimace while he sleeps. He looks peaceful though, and I lay more comfortably beside him, turning so that I'm facing him and I just stare at him while hesitating without knowing why.

All the while, I'm resisting the urge to touch my lips to his in lieu of a connection to something that was never meant for me.

But I'm not admiring or pitying him as my gaze drifts in the thin line of his mouth. Instead, I'm thinking about the story Cloud told us years ago about the day that Sephiroth lost his mind… how he was down in that lab and going through everything he could find of Hojo's as if he was possessed, or as I think about it now, maybe it was a mission.

Maybe he found something more than he bargained for. Maybe he found something that was only more fuel for the madness that started with the discoveries he was making of himself.

Cloud told us the crazed Soldier destroyed several records after spending more than a day going through endless files without sleeping or eating. Then for whatever unknown reason, he set the town on fire and murdered anyone who ran out of their homes to find safety or tried to confront him.

Cloud said it was more like he was angry and embittered before the madness took its toll, like a spiral of lies had compounded before something set him off further when he was in the basement of that accursed mansion. He claimed the Soldier was calm at first and that he was far more passionate after he left the mansion as opposed to the way that he entered and seemed when he resurfaced from the dead years later.

Though the goal… to destroy everything… remained the same.

Maybe it was why Sephiroth went to Tseng first instead of Cloud or Aerith when we were at the Temple. Though none of us ever questioned or thought anything of how strange it suddenly strikes me, considering that the only other person Sephiroth appeared to want to personally harm at the time was Aerith.

I don't want to believe that any of it's possible though and for once, I'd like to believe that Tseng is right about me having an overactive and unhealthy imagination, and I can't help but want to convince myself that I'm losing my mind if not losing myself to the monster that lives inside of me.

Unfortunately though, it wouldn't do Tseng any good to have it happen again and I cross my brows while watching him stir again—telling myself that everything about him seems normal.

Then without really meaning to, I hoarsely whisper his name into the quiet air as if I want him to wake up, "Tseng…"

I'm uncertain why I want to wake him though and I'm even more uncertain what I'll tell him as he lets out a dry cough and grunts at me while turning over. But it doesn't stop me from doing it again, and this time I shake him with a feeling of urgency before he mumbles illegibly into the pillow without hiding his irritation, "What?"

"I need to talk to you…"

"In the morning…" he mumbles back before he pulls the blankets over his shoulder and attempts to fall back to sleep.

But I can't wait until the morning even though I don't really know why, and I wind up bothering him enough to make him turn back over and stare emptily at me. And despite his tired and weathered eyes, he keeps them open with the most uninterested expression he can come up with while I try to tell him again that something I can't explain is happening and that I think Sephiroth may have betrayed him in more ways than either of them were or are aware of while thinking that I might be going about the explanations in the wrong way.

To my surprise though, he doesn't interrupt me or insult me like he normally does.

Instead, he quietly waits until I'm done, interrupting me only with a dry and uncomfortable cough, and then he mutters out, "Mm," before he indifferently turns his back to me and pulls the blankets back over his shoulders.

"What are you doing?"

"Going back to sleep," he says before grumbling that he can't believe I woke him up for something as ridiculous as the need to nurture my senseless insecurities.

* * *

To say that Tseng frustrates me sometimes would be an understatement, and for the life of me, I can't come up with a suitable explanation why he would act so dismissive when I know some of the secrets he's been witness to. Though I don't press. Instead, I tell myself that maybe he's denying it for a reason.

That maybe, for the first time since I've known him, I'm realizing he really is afraid of something and doesn't want to have to face it.

Then I tell myself that it's not that big of a deal and that maybe my imagination is as overactive as he likes to tell me it is and that the only way to really find out what's going on is to try to find some answers that have substance instead of jumping to 'superstitious' conclusions all the time. In any case, he says he's going to Wutai and that he doesn't want me going with him, and I convince myself that it would be as good a time as any to see if I can find anything that he might be avoiding.

* * *

When the morning arrives, Tseng behaves no different from I would have expected him to. He turns to me, frowns over the fact that he knows I haven't slept and then he pushes himself to the edge of the bed while taking the sheet with him. But as it turns out, he didn't forget my accusations toward Sephiroth as easily as he forgot about my request for him to leave the Turks.

"Vincent…"

"Vince," I mindlessly mutter before he continues with a subtle shake to the head.

"Sephiroth never would have done those things."

He says it like the conversation only ended a second ago or not at all as he rubs the sleep from his eyes and grimaces when he pulls the sheet more securely about him. Consequently, I can't help but notice that he seems more tired than he normally is and I can easily brush it off to recent events while I turn my attention to him, watch him rub at his nose and sniffle, and I fight the urge to sarcastically say, "Really?"

Only I didn't fight it off as well as I think I could have, and I remain with my arms crossed in front of me and my legs straight as I sit on the bed and stare at him through my heavy bangs in a way that questions why Sephiroth did the things that he did then.

"Leviathan…" Tseng mutters, more to himself before he rubs at his nose and stands like he's light-headed, "Is there no sacred time for you?"

_What the hell is that supposed to mean?_ I wonder, while being too stubborn to ask as he awkwardly walks to the bathroom like his balance is off so that he can blow his nose, cough something up, and spit into the sink while running the water to wash down whatever the hell it was that he coughed up.

Then he groans and blows his nose again while grumbling to himself, "Of all the times…" before he comes back out and stares at me while holding the sheet clumsily about him and leaning against the door.

"You pick the worst times to start an argument, Vince…" he says, sounding stuffy while he rubs at his nose again and walks back over to the bed with a role of toilet paper in his hand.

Then I wonder if there's ever been a good time to start one and I can't help but recall that he's the one that started it the moment he opened his eyes as I watch him sit back down, rub at those charcoal orbs of his and mutter before I get the chance to say anything in my defence, "I have no idea why everyone always forgets that he wasn't always like that… They always forget about the lives he saved and the wars he ended…"

"Oh for Kjata's sake," I mindlessly blurt out, wondering how in the hell he can glorify an abomination before I suddenly pay more attention to the fact that he's blowing his nose again and repressing another cough, allowing me a better cover for my insult as I focus on the new turn of events as transparent as it is, "You're sick."

"Yes," he agrees, sniffling again and smirking at the veracity of my observation, "But not delirious… He was a good man, Vince."

"Maybe that's what he wanted you to believe," I say, attempting to keep my tone less offensive without denying the fact that I disagree with anything he has to say in Sephiroth's defence as I reach over to see if he's running a fever.

Then I frown when he bats my hand away and looks at me in irritation.

"Fine… Let's say for argument's sake that he wasn't _always_ a good man… Or even the best… Would it make you happy to know that he was the first one to cheat in our relationship?"

"First?" I dumbly repeat, taken off guard before realizing that I might be striking a deeper nerve than I knew existed. Not to mention the question suddenly spurs the next question that comes out more accusatory and riddled with disgust than I meant for it to sound, "How many times did you cheat on him?"

"Oh… Now I'm the monster…" he fires back before sneezing on my lap and grabbing the roll of toilet paper to blow his nose again, "Leviathan, Vince… Sometimes I really don't know why you stick around someone as _vile_ as me…"

"That's not what I meant," I say, attempting to justify my reaction while reminding myself that he told me near the beginning that he wasn't the most faithful person around and that I shouldn't be as surprised as I am. Though I can't help but note that when he said 'vile,' he looked at me like it should have been obvious who he really thinks the vile one is.

"No… Of course not…" he mutters before bursting into an uncontrollable cough, "You never say anything that you mean."

"No," I defiantly respond, "I never say anything that you _think_ I say… You're the one that always puts words in my mouth whether they have any su—"

I would have finished.

But a knock on the door sets us both on edge and Tseng looks at the clock to see if we've overstayed our welcome while I quietly ask with an accusatory air to my harsh whisper, "Are you expecting someone?"

He only shakes his head as an answer before he gets off the bed, careful not to make a sound and grabs the gun that he took from the Bandit while I grab mine and ready it as well. Then he looks at me in question and I suddenly get the feeling that he's accusing me of being responsible for luring whoever it is on the other side of the door to us while he hisses at me to, "Put some damn clothes on!"

I ignore him though, as if the defiance adds substance to something when our question is answered the moment we both hear a familiar voice that's muffled from the other side of the door say, "Hey… Tseng… It's me, Man…" And my gun-arm suddenly goes limp as I return the accusatory look to the lying weasel standing on the opposite side of the bed to me, wondering exactly when he was going to tell me about the visit from his precious little guest as I unconsciously aim my gun at him like he's some kind of unknown threat.

"That's right, Vince… This is all part of my evil plan to piss you off," he coldly tells me as quietly as he can while narrowing his eyes for effect before he responds to the jerk on the other side of the door and turns his aim to my direction to stress that he doesn't trust me at the moment while calling, "Reno?"

"Yeah…"

"Shit," he mutters before his eyes wander as if he's searching for something, and then he adjusts his sheet before stressing with those charcoal eyes that he wants me to lower my untrustworthy defence.

Though at this point, I'm not sure which one of us is the less trustworthy one while he quietly stresses no louder than breath that, "I didn't know."

Sure you didn't, I sarcastically think, while I lower my gun in a way that stresses my protest and he scurries to grab all my belongings to shove them into my arms while clumsily fighting with his own clothes to dress himself as fast as he can, "Give me a minute! I'm indecent!"

"Heh…" the little monster on the other side chortles before saying in a way that I interpret as flirtatious, "I seen ya indecent before…"

"What?" I hiss while Tseng shakes his head at me in a 'never mind' sort of way and starts pushing me into the bathroom while I swear I hear Reno mutter under his breath in a non-audible way, "Been waitin fer ya all my life anyway… what's one more fuckin minute…?" and I wind up tensing up as Tseng appears to have missed what the vile creature on the other side said as he shoves me into the bathtub and grabs the curtain to close it.

Then I demand in a low growl that I want him to, "Get rid of that imbecile."

"Goodness, Vince..." Tseng responds before he closes the curtain with a sharp and scraping snap to his movement and mutters under his breath, "He's not an imbecile," and whether that was supposed to set my mind at ease or not… well, it doesn't.

* * *

As much as I'd like to blame Tseng for setting the whole thing up, the conversation between the two of them when he opens the door proves that he was just as clueless over Reno's sudden appearance as I am, and the first thing that he asks the untrustworthy redhead is, "How did you find out where I am?" and "What are you doing here?"

"Rufus said ya got into a bit'a trouble," the redhead responds before telling his senior Turk that he was ordered to find him while Tseng speculates that Rufus worries too much over nothing, which earns him a curt, "Yeah… well… he ain't the only one."

Then he goes on to tell his superior that he managed to collect Tseng's belongings from the other hotel that he was registered at and that he also brought him some extra gil before Tseng suspiciously questions why Rufus would think that he needs money. Though he doesn't bother to fill the redhead in on the fact that he lost his money before he changes his tone and thanks the little capparwire.

However none of what Reno says answers the question how he found out where Tseng was staying before an awkward sounding answer comes out with a lowered voice that almost sounds wry when Tseng asks him again.

"Well, it ain't too hard ta track down a couple'a vagabonds in this town, ya know?"

"Couple?"

"Heh… Yeah… _couple_."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."


	32. A Snake in the Grass

**A Snake in the Grass**

* * *

"Really?" Reno asks. His voice carries a hint of sarcasm and no fear of challenging his superior, which again leads me to question their real relationship since they appear closer in private than they do on the field, "'Cuz the clerk said ya checked in with a strange lookin lady."

"I did," Tseng coolly answers before coughing and catching Reno's attention that suddenly turns to a brief and genuine concern when the younger man considerately asks, "Ya sick?"

"Just a cold, I fear." After that, I hear what I interpret as Reno's footsteps and a movement on the bed as if someone sat down and for some reason, it makes my nerves burn and causes me to use every ounce of self control I possess not to go out there and wring the little capparwire's neck.

"Hm… That why yer lady friend ain't 'round? 'fraid'a catchin watcha got?"

"My lady friend was only a ploy."

"Funny… Cuz the way the clerk described her almost sounded familiar…" Reno says with no attempt to hide the fact that he doesn't fully believe what his superior has to say, "Only, the description did'n exactly fit the description of a woman… It more or less fit the description of someone else I've seen before."

"Leviathan… Surely there is something more productive you could do with your time."

"Heh… Nah… I jus have a knack fer noticin coincidences that ain't exactly coincidences, ya know?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't… All I know is that you have a talent for fabricating bizarre fantasies that you expect other people to bend over for."

"Bend over for…" Reno mutters as the movement on the bed suggests he decided to stand again and I imagine him looking away and putting his hands in his pockets like he always does when he takes on that wry tone of his.

Then I hear Tseng walk into the bathroom to pour some water into the stained glass by the sink, allowing me to take advantage of the small tear in the shower curtain to see the look of disgust on his face before Reno walks over to the door in a way that blocks him in and flirtatiously comments that, "Ya know I ain't got no problem bendin over fer ya."

"Pardon?"

"Ya heard me."

"I don't believe I heard anything that made sense," Tseng dryly comments before he subtly darts his eyes to the tub and takes a deep breath, "and your babbling behaviour is rather cryptic as usual."

"Ain't nothin cryptic, Man…" he comments, appearing unaffected by Tseng's disdainful remarks and attitude—if not finding it amusing at the same time while partially leaning against the doorframe, "Jus sayin that if ya was in a bind that I'm there fer ya."

"I already know that," Tseng evenly answers, still keeping his cool in hopes of not raising suspicion. Then he pauses long enough to take a small sip and sneers at the fact that he's been lowered to drinking out of a dirty glass. "It's the main reason you're my second in command. However, I really don't know why you feel it's necessary to state the obvious."

"Ah… So in other words, ya'd rather go back ta the other topic?"

"What other topic?"

"The one 'bout Valentine."

"Reno…" Tseng mumbles, unable to hide the subtle frustration he's beginning to feel before leaning forward and rubbing at his temples like he's got a sudden headache and appearing as if he's completely clueless about what Reno's getting at, "Despite the fact that you're trying to twist my words around by bringing up irrelevant topics in hopes that I'll stumble and reveal nothing in regard to something you've concocted in that questionable head of yours by making absolutely no sense about anything… What are you bloody-well talking about?"

"So yer admittin it then?"

"Admitting what?"

"The fact that ya did'n deny anythin kind'a states that yer admittin ta it."

Just like a Turk, I think, twisting other people's words around to suit them and attempting to confuse them until the truth comes out. Though I suppose I'm not any less guilty in that aspect. Nor am I any less disgusted over the fact that it's the truth.

"Just because I'm not denying something that doesn't need to be denied doesn't mean that I'm admitting to anything when there's nothing to admit to."

"Really…?" Reno suspiciously mutters before Tseng starts to push him out of the bathroom.

Then the redhead grabs onto the frame to make it obvious that he has no intention of cooperating.

"So if there's nothin ta admit ta, why are ya tryin ta get rid'a me so quickly then?"

"Odd, I had no idea trying to get out of a filthy bathroom was a sign of me trying to hide something."

"Maybe ya should try comin outta somethin else then…"

"Pardon?"

"Whatcha got hidin behind that curtain?"

"What curtain?"

"The shower curtain, Man… No one leaves 'em closed like that."

"It allows it to air out and dry properly," Tseng responds, unable to hide the irritation in his voice any longer. Then he slightly falters and adds another explanation as if he thinks that what he said wasn't good enough for the redheaded devil to believe, "And if you'd seen the tub, you'd know that there's more than one reason to leave it closed."

But unfortunately, it seems to backfire on him, which causes me to quietly prepare myself by tightening the grip around my gun if that untrustworthy little weasel decides to come anywhere near me. Though I have no plans to shoot him with it even if it's only because it's against Tseng's wishes, and I tell myself that it won't be so bad if I hit him with it, hard enough to knock him out regardless of whether I'll need to do it repetitively or not.

"That bad, huh? Lemme see?"

"There's nothing to see."

"Yer-uh… gettin kind'a worked up, ya know," Reno slyly mutters, taking obvious note of the growing edginess in Tseng's tone. Then he finally releases his grip on the doorframe and stumbles backwards when Tseng roughly escorts him by the scruff of his shirt into the other room and chuckles out in amusement, "There anythin I can do ta help ya relax?"

From there, Tseng's tone grows even more agitated than it was and he tells his second in command that he doesn't need to relax and I reflect on how typical it is of him to respond with the same merciless tone regarding himself as he always does. But I'm assuming I'm not the only one that knows how much harder Tseng is on himself than he is on others because Reno makes it more than clear that he doesn't believe a single word from his superior's mouth and he begins to voice his concerns in a more considerate manner over the man's health, despite the protests.

"Yer feelin a little hot… Ya take anythin for it?"

"No," I hear Tseng answer, slightly calmer than he was while I stew over how in the hell Reno would know he was hot unless he was touching him.

Besides that though, Tseng still carries a hint of odd confusion in his voice as he continues like he thinks Reno should already know what he says next.

"I have no money."

Then silence follows, almost uncomfortable between them while they both reflect on something unknown to me. Though I take my best guess and assume it has something to do with Tseng's recent misfortune before I hear Reno's shoe scuff against the floor while he thoughtfully mutters, "I'll go get ya somethin then…"

After that, the sound of Reno's footsteps move toward the door and another pause takes place while Tseng blows his nose, coughs, and Reno taps on the door in a thoughtful way, seemingly more thoughtful than he usually is, and for some reason it's bothering me even more than when he's brash and arrogant.

"Won't take long…"

"Take your time," Tseng dryly replies, almost sounding like he's ready to go back to bed.

Then he steps more into whatever minuscule view I have and lets out a heavy sigh while rubbing at his brow as the redhead leaves and quietly closes the door behind him. After that, Tseng subtly shakes his head and tells me as quietly as he can that, "You're going to have to leave, Vince… I don't have the patience to deal with the volatile combination that the two of you always become right now."

"Then tell _him_ to leave," I say, unable to hide the fact that the redhead drives me insane for no apparent reason while I step out and start putting my pants on. All the while, I'm feeling more irritated by the miscreant than I normally am.

But for some strange reason it's for all the opposite reasons than it normally is. It's not because of his obnoxious behaviour this time. It's because of something else—something that started to dig deeper the moment he started acting like the civilized creature that I know damned well he's nowhere near being.

And from there I make every personal attempt to reason it out while Tseng stares at me with a blank look that shows no sign of what he's thinking. Nor does he say anything while I angrily do my pants up and stew over the fact that not only does Reno have a questionable knack for showing up when he's least wanted, but he also behaves as if he wants something from Tseng—something more.

What's worse though is that I know I have no valid reason that I can come up with for thinking or believing it.

Yet as always, Tseng likes to think that he knows the answer to everything that I think and feel, and in this case it's jealousy due to something he thinks I can't let go of.

"I really don't understand how you can still be affected by your girlfriend's marriage to Hojo after all these years…"

And now I don't know what's worse as I pause with my hands over the undone buckles on my pants and take to staring guiltily at the floor.

But the intended sting of the reminder isn't something I take personally anymore. At least it's not personal when I suddenly realize how detached he sounds when he says it, or how I think of how he wanted something more intimate the night before and possibly even a hint of proof that I want or feel the same way before I dominated the situation in a way that suggested he was nothing more than a release for me. It's what I always do and it sinks in that he doesn't say, 'Lucrecia,' like I mindlessly remind him and regret it the moment that I do.

It's what he labels her as, still, and it's what I guilt myself over when I think about how wrong I suddenly realize we both are for each other and instead of having the effect it probably should have, it solidifies my insecurities over the matter even more while I begin to wonder what it is that I really want or expect from him.

Instead of trying to consolidate the matter though, I throw my shirt over my head and angrily toss my cloak over my shoulder before grumbling about how I should leave before his precious Turk returns.

Then I kick myself after I walk out the front door in hopes of drawing out some kind of emotion from him and making it obvious to whatever onlookers there might be that I was there. Maybe it's to defy his insecurities in hopes of taking my mind from my own as I tell myself I'm no longer concerned about the fact that using the door is the last thing Tseng would have wanted an animal like me to do as I slam it behind me.

But for a brief moment, I pause, confused and not sure if I heard what I think I heard him quietly say after I took my first step, almost like he thought I could no longer hear him.

"You were right all along…" is what it sounded like he said, right before he blows his nose and begins to cough again.

Though I have no idea who it was he was talking to if to anyone at all.

And if I didn't know any better, I could swear that an all too familiar chuckle resonates through my head while a tingling warning crawls up my spine.

* * *

_It's my imagination,_ I tell myself after stewing over it for several minutes and making my way to the darkest shadows of the alley that I could find so that I can watch him and see if he does or says anything else suspicious. All the while, I wonder why I never noticed him do anything like that before and I ask myself if he's right about me losing my mind.

I question it even more when all he does is sit on the edge of the bed doing and saying nothing to prove that I didn't hear anything at all. During that time, he stares into a nothingness that I can't comprehend before his hand jerks to where he carried the weapon that Sephiroth gave to him and he subtly sneers, quirks his brow, and breathes out, "You think I'd know better by now," before he lets himself fall uncommonly backwards onto the bed and appears to laugh at himself, "The fool that I am…"

"The fool that we both are," I quietly add, and I habitually lower my face into my mantle while I wonder how in the hell I can remedy whatever the hell it is that needs remedying and wondering why we always resort to fighting over nothing for no reason, or if we can even call it fighting.

The best I can come up with is to tell myself to listen to the constant voice in the back of my head that often tells me to, 'Stay away from him, Vincent.'

But because it's Sephiroth's voice that says it, I find myself suffering from the sudden need to prove something.

Maybe it's a childish need to want something that was his or to try to prove that I can win a losing battle. Maybe it's nothing more than a selfish need to feel like I'm trying to make him pay for what I've lost.

Unfortunately though, I don't want to believe that I'm torturing someone else simply because I don't know how to let go of the past, and like a reflex reaction, I find myself moving as quickly as I can, back to the mansion to try to return something that I don't want to return in hopes that I can prove that Tseng means something more to me than vengeance.

* * *

Unfortunately though, there's a snake in the grass and like always, he shows up exactly where I never want him to. With a toothy grin and hair like flames that seem more vibrant near the burning and volatile chemicals of what's left of the still-burning mansion, Reno stands among the rubble as dangerously close as he can get without causing himself harm.

He glows with the colour of fire as it dances across his skin and it turns his white shirt to a sunset-orange, making him seem even more devious than he usually is. And his grin sharpens his features in a way that seems reminiscent of a demon.

Not to mention the reason he's here and not out tending to his superior's needs like he said he was going to do begs to be questioned if not physically demanded of him while he stands there, seemingly waiting for something or someone with what looks like an eager anticipation as those serpentine eyes dance over the evolving ruin in a mixture of satisfaction and disgust.

And soon, my answer comes to me like a weight heavy enough to knock me out.

It's a person that he's waiting for—one of the lower Turks that I've seen at the farm and he's carrying an object that Reno seems to be eagerly anticipating as the other man shortens the distance between them.

And if my view of the redheaded serpent wasn't already as low as it could have possibly been it would have dropped even lower at this moment, particularly when I recognize the tarnished object to be none other than the blasted gift that Sephiroth gave to his lover the night before their lives were fatefully changed. It's the very same gift that I came to look for.

To say I'm more suspicious of his motives than I already was would be an understatement at this point since to the best of my knowledge, Tseng never told Reno about losing it, and a strange twinge pulls at my gut when I think of how Tseng almost reached for it when I walked out on him without even denying that it was Lucrecia that he thinks I've been confusing him with all this time.

And concerning it all, the best reaction I can come up with is to mutter under my breath, "Son of a…"

I would have shot the demon-spawn right then and there.

But maybe I possess a more morbid side than I thought I did since something inside of me wants to see what the hell he's really up to while I watch him pull a small rag out of his pocket and he spit-shines the damned thing, tidying it up as best as he can for whatever unscrupulous reason he has.

And with that in mind, I release the angry grip on my gun and angrily focus on the tips of his hair that are carried in the wind, blowing past his scrawny shoulder blades like the flames that he stands in front of. It's reminiscent of the very same flames that are burning within me.

* * *

He wastes no time though, and soon enough the conniving snake is on his way back to the centre of town to stop into the finest diner that Nibelheim has to offer, emerging with a fully cooked meal in his arms almost as quickly as he entered, suggesting that he stopped there first to make his order before he went to the mansion.

All the while, his superior's unused and slightly charred weapon dangles carelessly from a hitch on his belt.

From there, he makes his way with a quick pace carried by long gangly strides to the closest medicine shop while he flirtatiously winks and grins at nearly everyone he passes as he does so.

Whether he does it to antagonize them is unknown. But the returning sneers and distaste towards a man that is obviously a Turk—if not someone who's personally traumatized any of them at any given time—proves that his motives are not for the sake of charm.

And again, he quickly emerges as if it's all been rehearsed or part of a plan. This time he's carrying medicine, along with the food, and he starts with the quick strides again. All of his actions prove that his intentions were never to waste time but to make haste while not missing a meticulous beat.

It proves that nothing about his careless and clumsy appearance foretells the truth of the strictly planned out patterns he follows, quick to the draw and flirting only to draw out the threats—to judge and calculate. Every reaction that he draws out from his own actions tells him everything he needs to know about his environment.

To say that Reno is a careless clod is to simply judge him the way that he wants you to judge him. He plays the game his way, writes his own rules, and uses his nonconformist appearance to make everyone else conform…

It's no wonder I don't trust him.

* * *

It also makes me wonder why in the hell Tseng trusts him as much as he does.

Or why Tseng openly accepts the food and medicine that Reno offers the moment the man opens the door to greet him as if to distract him from the object hanging from his belt. Though why, I don't know, and I watch as Tseng is still sniffling and uncomfortable, showing a rare weakness with weepy eyes while he turns his head and sneezes while never questioning what Reno's offering is or where it came from.

And I lower my head into my mantle at the thought that he would have been interrogating me and telling me that he didn't need any of it if it was me that had done the same, regardless of the fact that I'm probably exaggerating and blowing the whole thing out of proportion.

But I suppose it shouldn't surprise me and I fight the futile feelings that churn inside of me while I continue to watch with a growing sense of morbid yearning while Tseng opens a container that looks like it holds some kind of soup, attempts to smell it, and accepts the spoon that Reno offers him.

And I continue to tighten inside when Reno sits on the bed beside him, a little closer than I think he should, and he measures a portion of the medicine before pouring it into Tseng's bowl while almost bashfully telling him, "Ta hide the flavour."

"Oh?"

"Yeah… Tastes like shit…"

"I suppose I should thank you then."

And from there, a small chuckle escapes from the demon, pretending to be warm, friendly, and ordinary while he quickly darts his eyes to his boss's face and then wipes his palms on his pants as if he's nervous about something. Though I suppose the little snake has every reason to be nervous considering what he has attached to his belt.

But the small talk seems to drag out as the redhead asks questions that are expected in regard to the mansion. He asks how Tseng got out and how he managed to get himself a hotel if he didn't have any money, and each question is answered with no more than the fewest of words required, even a grunt if it will suit his superior.

After a while, or perhaps the amount of time it took for Reno to build up the courage or to simply wait until his boss finished eating, the snake does what I've been waiting for.

He does it nervously though, strange and out of character as he inches closer to his boss for no reason that makes sense to me before he looks at the man with those bejewelled eyes that have a life of their own, almost dancing, luring, or whatever other words I can come up with to feed my active imagination over the non-existent matter as Tseng would accuse.

Though regardless of mine and Tseng's differences, when it comes to the point of view over Reno, I can't help but feel that I'm closer to being right than he is and an unconscious sneer plays across the upper left corner of my mouth when the little bastard shows Tseng what he so _unwittingly_ found.

"Went ta check on the mansion while waitin for yer food. Ya know… had ta see it fer myself," he tells him, "an saw this sittin there… It's yours, ain't it?"

Tseng only silently revels at the appearance instead of saying anything though, attempting to hide what he feels. He would have succeeded if it wasn't for the sudden light in his usually dark eyes, unaware of the shameless lies of the miscreant in front of him and just as in the dark as I am too.

Then he falters and almost stutters while carefully placing the bowl on the end table near the bed, "Yes," before he takes it while doing his best to hide the obvious eagerness to repossess it, "but I could have sworn it was lost in the lower levels… How did it wind up in the open?"

I almost smile at the fact that he doesn't miss a beat at that point, despite the distraction in front of him. But like always, the redhead is either too quick or too good at rehearsing his responses as he carelessly shrugs and wryly turns the corner of his mouth, "Dunno… Stranger things've happened…"

And for the first time since I've known Tseng, the word, 'idiot,' comes to mind, and I feel like physically going over there and kicking him for being stupid enough to trust such an obvious deceiver as he nods, quirks his brow, and agrees, "I suppose…"

But something about the way that he taps his fingers on the metal in thought when he places it on his lap after the redhead hands it to him stops me from acting before thinking, and there's something about the way that Tseng looks into space for a moment, reflective and slowly sinking that holds me in my place like invisible shackles.

Though what he thoughtfully asks next sends mixed signals and even more questions regarding who the hell is really playing who in this twisted game that never seems to end.

"What would you do if someone asked you to leave the Turks?"

And unconsciously, I reach for the necklace that Lucrecia gave to me and I'm suddenly wondering if the only reason I was put on this planet was to be messed with by anyone I ever dared to let myself care about since he led me to believe that he didn't remember anything about our argument over the question.

Of course, Reno's mindless jerking around only causes me to tense up even more and remove the safety on my gun while it's still in my holster when he playfully jibes, "Heh… thought ya'd never ask."

It causes Tseng to mildly smirk in a way that seems like he's trying to be polite even though he looks like something is weighing too heavily on his mind to appreciate his co-worker's light humour. Then he takes a deep breath and does his best to suppress the cough that the action causes before he gives his partner a scolding look reminiscent of a parent to a child.

After that, he subtly shakes his head and Reno suddenly turns serious.

He stares at the older man beside him for far too long in my opinion and I barely notice that I'm already aiming my gun before Tseng takes notice of the redhead's odd attention and asks, "What are you doing?"

But Reno stays silent, tilts his head and leans even closer to the wary man beside him.

Then he unexpectedly reaches towards the left of Tseng's head as if to cup it at the same time that someone beside me asks the same question that Tseng asked with the same curious tone riddled with caution.

"Vince…? What are you doing?"

It's one of those moments where time seems to freeze as an unwelcome and torturous feeling comes over me, and like so often during these moments, I don't even realize that I'm no longer in control of myself. Nor am I even aware of where I am or what's going on while I fall back to another time that filled me with the same feeling.

Though it wasn't as strong as it is now, and perhaps it's because of the way it went back then. But I know the feeling and as much as I wish it was as dead as the rest of me—when Lucrecia married Hojo, had his child, and made me into what I am now…

And the gun fires off a shot as if I was never in control of it. It happens like everything else does since the day I died… never in control…

And it suddenly doesn't matter how much of a liar Tseng is and the games he plays as I continuously play the fact that I've told that Wutian bastard a thousand times if not more... while the sound of a second gunshot fills the air and the Wutian Turk falls to the floor with a disturbing thud…

That the son of a bitch couldn't be trusted…


	33. Blood

**Blood**

* * *

"Tseng!" Reno shouts, echoing through the alley in a sudden state of alarm when he realizes that something threatening has just happened.

So fast, it occurred, that he leaned toward his boss in a way that triggered some kind of insane emotion and I fired out of a sheer fit of hatred for the man. But at the last moment, Tseng saw it coming and pulled the redhead's gun from his holster just as quickly as he pushed Reno out of the way and put himself in the line of fire.

He knew what he was doing, leaving me with no doubt from the look in his eyes that I saw for only a brief moment before it was burned into my mind when he fired a shot back at me and grazed my arm. Maybe it was meant as a warning instead of an actual desire to wound me, but unfortunately my intention wasn't the same.

"Shit!"

It was at that moment after Tseng hit the floor and Reno grabbed his gun back that it finally sunk in that I had done what I feared doing most. And I stood there as if frozen, thinking of the visions of Tseng in the snow—the fact that my gun was still warm and I kept my aim at the room they were in as Reno quickly checked Tseng's pulse and knowingly kept his vital organs out of my line of sight.

There is no snow though, I try to tell myself, in a weak attempt to convince myself that this is nothing like the vision I kept seeing.

But then again, how often do visions happen exactly as they're seen?

And not once did I realize that Cloud was standing beside me, perhaps the whole time, and he's calling out, "Cure," to heal the wound that Tseng rightfully inflicted on me before all hell breaks loose.

* * *

I suppose I should have expected repercussions though, even if I didn't mess up as badly as I could have. And I only stand there, still frozen and barely even noticing the sharp pain as the cure spell that Cloud called out does its harrowing magic.

After all, I'm not so sure that I deserve to get away with this one without some form of punishment and I only watch, waiting, as Reno jumps through the window, cutting his arms on the shards of glass that he doesn't seem concerned about and Cloud does all that he can do to divert him, not knowing why but probably guessing that I had a good reason for trying to kill the Turk while it looks like Reno is attempting to repay me for my actions.

Yet if Cloud only knew what it was all over, he might not have been so eager to help.

Not that it matters though, because all I can really think about once I snap out of my state of denial is getting to Tseng as fast as I can while the other two do what they do best, oddly managing to never really hurt each other while acting like they want to. But unfortunately, thanks to Reno's attentiveness and skill, he manages to get Cloud out of his way long enough to hit me with what I think is a level three bolt and I let out an excruciating growl from the full body sensation before the last thing that I wanted to happen happens.

Chaos…

* * *

I don't think I'll ever get used to it or even learn to like it as it ravishes my higher senses and stops me from doing what I want to be doing and what I need to be doing. It takes over, curing me from all of my injuries more effectively than a cure spell could ever do and takes away every ounce of control and self-awareness as the cost.

Maybe it's my rightful penance, and maybe it's my own fault that nothing ever goes the way I'd like it to and everything that happens from that point on is nothing more than fragments of things that could have happened, probably did happen or didn't happen while Reno and I, or more accurately, Chaos, fight to get to Tseng first, and Cloud manages to put himself in the middle where he does more damage to the cause than good for a change.

Not once does it occur to me that Chaos seems to share my concern for the Turk who's left unattended far longer than he should have been—almost like it cares—and not once does it occur to me that the only damage it's causing is to those that are standing in its way, seeing neither as friend nor foe.

They're only obstacles as inopportune memories about my days back in an older Nibelheim hit me harder than any weapon or materia that Reno or Cloud can hit me with. It's all Cloud needs to take advantage of the situation when it causes Chaos to waver when I scream through its voice and cause it to fall to its knees over the fact that I don't think I can deal with any of it anymore.

Why the memories hit me so hard and bother me so much all the sudden though, I don't know…

All I really do know is that I've never felt more betrayed by Lucrecia than I suddenly do and I have no idea why I'm suddenly feeling that way now—she took away everything…

And I'm still the one that's apologizing.

* * *

"Lucrecia…" I weekly grunt after Cloud manages to throw some kind of powder at me… dream powder, I think… "Why…?"

"Huh?"

"Just stop, Reno… for now… and tell me what the hell is going on!"

"Yer friend's a psycho," I hear Reno muttering, "jus like you an all yer other friends!"

Then I hear the sound of familiar Turk shoes, hard rubber hitting cobblestone in quick paces like the son of a bitch is running. And around the same time I feel someone rubbing at my shoulder and attempting to help me up while muttering, "Takes one to know one…" before he says, "Ensuna," to remove the effects of the dream powder.

Then he kneels back to give me more room and asks, "Vincent… You okay?"

I completely ignore the question though and I wind up pushing Cloud out of the way so I can run after Reno in an attempt to beat him to his destination and without intentionally meaning to, I wind up in front of him like a flash of lightening—another side-effect from Lucrecia's work that causes me to move almost as if I'm in a temporal plane at times and it gives me the opportunity to fire a shot behind me in an attempt to stop Reno from getting in my way.

But Cloud manages to protect him—for whatever reason—while the redhead stands there looking stunned for a moment and I fall into a pool of Tseng's blood after falling weak at the knees when I realize that the enigmatic leader of the Turks is nowhere in sight and Reno dumbly yells out, "Where the hell is he?" before he slips on the man's blood and falls beside me.

* * *

"_You're lucky. Any normal person would have died… But you're not normal… Are you?"_

"_Enhanced…"_

"_Soldier… Right?"_

"_Yes… You're…?"_

"_Tseng. I was assigned to meet up with you in Modeoheim. But obviously something went wrong."_

"_I guess you're lucky I was here to protect you then."_

"_Hardly… You're the one that requires medical attention…"_

"_I heal quickly."_

"_Very well. Get up then…"_

* * *

"Wha—?" I stammer, and I grimace as I cover my forehead with my hand as if I can hang onto whatever just happened long enough to make sense out of it.

"What the hell was that?" Reno asks

"What the hell was what?" Cloud repeats as he looks at me and Reno in confusion, both of us kneeling in Tseng's blood while the redhead suspiciously looks at me and I return the look without hiding any of the undying contempt that I feel for the miserable little parasite. Mostly because the thought strikes me that not only am I suspecting that he just had the same vision because of what he just yelled out, but he's also close enough to strangle.

But I manage to hold off long enough for Reno to dishonestly mutter, "Nothin," to Cloud.

"You're lying," I accuse, and I study him for any sign of a deviant expression that will back up my statement, "You heard it too."

"Heard what?" the little bastard coyly asks as if he's suddenly baiting me for his own amusement and Cloud falls quiet from a dumbfounded bemusement over the fact that he probably has even less of an idea over what's going on than he originally thought he did.

"What do you know about it?"

"Know about what?" he demands as if I'm starting to piss him off before he gives himself away and smirks at me like he knows exactly what I'm accusing him of. Then he suddenly spits out that, "None'a this would'a happened if ya would'a jus left him alone!" as if it's about the best he can come up with to change the topic.

And instead of me doing the strangling, Reno manages to beat me to the punch long enough to take me off guard and jump on me to try to wring the non-existent life out of me while I choke through the constriction of his surprisingly strong grasp that, "None of this would've happened if you stayed away…"

"Stayed the fuck away from what? He's my fuckin Boss, Asshole…! It's my fuckin job ta make sure he's all right and it ain't like ya were tryin yer best ta help 'im! Or is that what yer problem is…? That I got in yer fuckin way of tryin ta kill him?"

"You know what my problem is."

"No Man, I don't fuckin know what the fuck yer problem is! All I fuckin know is that ya've got somethin over him that he won't fuckin talk about!"

"You're an even bigger liar than he is…" I grumble back while I struggle with his wrists to get the filthy vagrant the hell off of me, "You know damn well what the hell is going on and that's why you were trying to kiss him!"

"Huh?" Reno nervously sputters out as if he's taken off guard. Then he loosens his hold long enough for me to dig the claws of my gauntlet into his throat before Cloud's sword meets my throat in an attempt to try to maintain the sanity that none of us have a hold on, and he demands, "Do either of you want to tell me what the hell is going on…? Or do I have to jump to the wrong conclusions on this one?"

Then he snorts as if he's suddenly amused and looks at Reno with his usual disapproving demeanour before emitting some type of body language that him and Reno seem to be at terms with, which causes Reno to jump back and scratch at the back of his neck while muttering, "I dunno what the fuck he's talkin 'bout, Man… He… Tseng had some kind'a weird mark on 'is neck… I grabbed him by the hair an—"

"You grabbed the Director of the Turks by the hair?" Cloud suspiciously asks and smirks as if he thinks this new direction is just too good to pass up. Then he eases up on me and stands back to let me get up while I guess that he's hoping we're both calm enough to give him whatever answers he thinks he deserves.

"Heh… N-no… I mean—I fuckin reached ta move his hair… So I could—"

"Kiss him?" Cloud mockingly finishes and smirks again as if he suddenly doesn't care as much about getting answers as he does about getting under one of his greatest rival's skin. In turn, it offers me the time I need to scurry along the floor of the room to try to find some kind of clue as to where the hell Tseng is while thanking whatever god exists that they both seem to have forgotten that I exist.

"Don't be a fuckin asshole, Man!" Reno shouts as I catch him tighten his grip around the EMR that he carries through the corner of my eye and I take note that even Tseng's belongings are gone.

_Could he have cured himself?_ I wonder, and I take another look at the mess of his blood that we've streaked across the floor well enough to hide any evidence of what might have really happened. Then I take a look at the nightstand where I think his gloves were and I wonder why he would have chosen to vanish without a word, even to his co-worker while I overhear Reno explaining that, "The veins on his neck looked like they were—"

"He was poisoned," I mutter, cutting Reno off and regretting it the moment the words leave my mouth when the two of them suddenly remember that there's more to the story than mocking one another.

I'm also suddenly regretting the fact that Reno may be telling the truth while realizing that what I accusingly blurted out earlier will probably leave them both with more questions than I should have left them with.

Though I'm more concerned about the questions about Tseng than to myself as I briefly explain what happened back at the mansion before Koerin captured us and that there was still some discolouration left in the veins that the poison was traveling through.

And sure enough, the question of, "So… either Tseng lied 'bout bein alone… or… ya really are…"

"Trying to help him," I growl, hoping to cut off any speculation while thinking that it used to be so much easier when I just kept my mouth shut. Then I decide to do as Tseng does, despite whether I disapprove of it or not, and I lie, "He's been looking for answers."

"Yeah… I know. But he ain't havin no luck."

_Neither am I,_ I think, before I catch a glimpse of Tseng's gloves under the bed at the opposite side as if they'd been tossed there and I hypnotically mumble, "He thought if he helped me… that I might be inclined to help him…"

"That why ya tried ta shoot me? Or should I say… him?" Reno sarcastically asks, making it obvious that he's not willing to be bought off with anything as simple as I was hoping for before he snickers that conniving snicker of his and leans in my direction while reprimanding, "Or is that jus the story yer hopin I'll believe so ya can get me outta yer hair long enough ta find out where the hell yer precious little—"

"Reno!" comes another voice from the shadows that makes everyone in the room cringe out of the lack of expectation before Reno's trusted partner emerges with his hands clasped in front of him. He carries a strict warning in his voice that borders on reason, reminding us that there are more pressing matters at hand than accusations that will get us nowhere.

Instead of responding to his partner though, I fall to a prone position so I can see more clearly under the bed while hoping that no one's going to question what I'm looking at since I have no patience at this point to wait for a more opportune moment.

"Yeah…" Reno mutters, "Ain't no point in disrespectin the Director…"

Then he smirks and looks at me through the corner of his suspicious eyes like he's silently telling me that he's more than willing to continue with the animosity when the timing is more appropriate.

"What happened?" the towering Turk asks while he slowly scans the room and ignores everyone and I try to reach for Tseng's gloves while grumbling that, "I don't have time for this."

"Really, Huh…?" Reno mocks, "So I guess ya ain't got no reason fer stickin 'round now that yer work is done."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I ask, suddenly irritated before I give up and decide that walking to the other side of the bed would accommodate me better while both Rude and Reno watch me like a couple of drooling Nibel wolves.

"It's supposed ta mean that ya managed ta distract me long enough fer yer little plan ta work, an now ya gotta go an make sure that it's still goin accordin ta plan…"

"What?" I ask while suddenly wondering why Tseng constantly tells me I'm crazy when his favourite Turk is obviously more nuts than I am.

"Good thing, huh…? Since ya were originally tryin ta get _me_ outta yer way so ya could do Gaia-knows-what with whatever ya were plannin on doin with him…"

"Kjata…" I grumble as it suddenly strikes me that once I grab those gloves I'd better move fast to avoid whatever other concoction he's going to come up with. Of course, the fact that neither of them are asking me what I'm doing leads me to believe that they've silently decided to let me do all the work for them while they stand there and act like delusional morons.

"Um…" Cloud mumbles before taking another look around without bothering to hide his confusion like he normally does, and he asks, "Wouldn't that mean someone else was involved?"

"Exactly," I sarcastically agree while Rude points out that he's managed to put a few of the pieces of the puzzle together by deciphering from our cryptic bantering that something has happened to Tseng and that there's something more going on between me and Reno than meets the eye.

But none of that really explains why Cloud is here, and Rude's attention turns to him in question.

"I used to live here," Cloud answers to a question that was never asked while Rude quickly repeats, "_Used_ to," as if to state that he shouldn't have to ask any questions that he views as obvious.

Cloud is quick to respond though, and he makes no effort to hide the irritation in his voice when he stares at Rude like he thinks he's an idiot and sarcastically asks him, "You never visit your home town?"

Then he shakes his head and motions his head to the direction of the mansion while I stand by Tseng's gloves and watch Reno as closely as he's watching me and cursing him for being so damn attentive.

And from there, Cloud mutters that he saw the flames from the mansion and figured he'd try to find out what happened, and then he saw me standing in the alley. At that point, he shrugs and doesn't bother to say much else except that I shot Tseng and Reno and I have been trying to kill each other since then, and that the best he's been able to figure out is that Reno kissed Tseng…

"I did'n fuckin kiss him!" Reno blurts out before making matters even worse by stating the obvious that no one's bothered to point out yet, even though I'm sure they might have been thinking it, "'Sides… doncha think it's kind'a odd that yer crazy friend would try ta kill me over somethin like that…? Maybe ya should be askin _him_ what the fuck this is all over since he's the one that fuckin started all this by pullin the fuckin trigger!"

"Wait…" Rude patiently commands before he looks at both Reno and Cloud like there are some things that he doesn't have any patience for. Then Cloud smirks at Reno again while Reno sneers back when Rude turns his attention to me and comments that, "I find it hard to believe that this man shot –"

"Well, fuckin believe it, Man."

"All right…" Rude calmly says as if he's trying his best to ignore the more bizarre statements while he stares at me like he's waiting for an explanation that will make more sense.

All it does is frustrate me though, more than it put me on the spot, and I remind them all that there's another possibility in hopes of getting off the current topic that could possibly damage Tseng's credibility just as much as mine, "Koerin could have taken him."

"Na-na, Man… If Koerin were here, he would'a taken more'n jus one of us."

"Are you sure about that?" I challenge, and I silently debate over whether I should point out the fact that Tseng's gloves look like they were thrown under the bed, possibly out of his reach. But then again, it wouldn't explain why all of Tseng's belongings are missing too.

But instead of Reno answering the question, Rude answers, "Yes." Then he adjusts his glasses and clears his throat in a way that suggests he doesn't want to say what he says next but has to so that he can make sense out of the situation.

"Koerin knows he won't get anywhere with Tseng and he would have used us as leverage in hopes that it would get one of us to talk. In his eyes, Tseng isn't worth the effort if he's alone and it also wouldn't explain why Tseng's belongings are missing, if I understand that part correctly."

"It also would've been more ta his benefit ta take advantage of the fact that we were all distracted ta follow us instead'a makin us all paranoid—would make it easier for him ta trail us… He ain't stupid, an all this would do is cause us ta wanna trail _him_… that ain't the way he works…" Reno adds before he pauses for a moment and rethinks his assumptions, "'Course… it would make it easier ta get us if we walked into a trap…"

"One that we're expecting?" Rude asks, pointing out something he disagrees with and states that, "None of this makes sense."

"No shit."

"Who's Koerin?" Cloud finally asks, and he looks at both of them suspiciously before asking, "And what does he want with you guys?"

"Same thing any power-hungry nut wants…" Reno mutters. Then he looks at Rude like he's searching for some kind of approval over his answer and shrugs as if he suddenly doesn't really care, and adds, "Wants ta be yer new Shinra…"

"How's that a bad thing?"

"Trust me, Man…" Reno answers while Cloud looks at him like he thinks they deserve whatever trouble they've gotten themselves into this time, "It's a bad thing."

"For you, maybe…" Cloud trails off before he looks over to me and tilts his head like he's suddenly curious when I kneel beside the bed while thinking that we've wasted enough time, and naturally, he draws the Turks' attention back over to me as well, causing me to silently curse.

Though I have to admit that I'm growing less concerned with their suspicions when I already feel like we've wasted enough time as it is—if not too much—and I take advantage of the fact that they can't see what I'm doing as I carefully grab Tseng's gloves and inconspicuously tuck them into one of my buckles that are hidden by my cloak as I stand.

"Find somethin?"

"No," I answer, not wanting to give them a reason to be more suspicious of me than they already are as I lower my face into my mantle and mutter, "Just more of the same."

Then I catch myself staring at Tseng's blood with a growing concern over the fact that none of this would have happened if it wasn't for me, and that I can only hope I can make it all right.

"Mm," The dark man indifferently mutters, not really showing whether he believes me or not.

Then he takes a deep breath and steps farther into the light to share his own point of view.

"We're doing nothing but waste time," he says, and he studies the room again before setting his attention on me like he doesn't believe anything anyone has said so far. "Regardless of who did what, or even why… our main focus should be that we have a wounded Turk to find."

After that, he looks at Reno with a scolding look, nods at Cloud, and I take that as a sign that I can leave without repercussions now. But I might have underestimated the situation, along with the fact that they're both professional investigators and that I'm responsible for starting this whole mess by shooting their comrade.

Unfortunately, Rude points it out as he stands in my way and I remind myself not to make the situation any worse than it already is by not letting him stop me.

For the amount of time that he stands there and stares at me with no expression though, an eternity could have passed.

Of course, it only seems that way as he appears to be studying me with more scrutiny than he previously was, and I suddenly shrink back, wanting to hide further behind my hair and my mantel while I return his empty gaze like a cornered animal.

Then he looks back at Cloud and Reno as if he suddenly remembered something that I thought we'd agreed to forget, "You both say that this man shot Tseng?"

* * *

Maybe I'm not the only one taken off guard even though I shouldn't be, and it takes a moment for the question to register among the other two before they honestly answer him while he maintains the same look of doubt that he had before. Yet at the same time, I suppose it would be foolish, as Tseng likes to say, to believe that he wouldn't take his job seriously.

"Tseng was shot…" he muses and looks around again, focussing on the blood and making me cringe at the thought again, "And he's gone now…"

"Yeah…"

"Hm…"

After another thoughtful pause, Rude examines Cloud more closely before he turns his attention back to me and frowns. Then he decides that they can't let me out of their sight because I can't be trusted and Reno mentions that they can't take me with them for the same reason they can't let me out of their sight.

In the meantime, Cloud is still trying to figure out what the hell is going on in regard to this 'Koerin person…' and attempts to find out if there's anything he should know or could do to help, and someone stabs something into the centre of my upper back before I have the chance to react after hearing a quick thud that came from somewhere else in the room.

After that, the only curious thought that runs through my head as I slowly turn as if I have no control over my body is, how in the hell did Reno manage to move so fast?

Like lightening, he was, and he grins with that conniving grin of his and sticks his tongue between his teeth while no more than an inch away from my face. Then he waves something in front of me in an attempt to get my attention. It's a syringe, I think, now empty, and I attempt to clear my dimming vision while I feel myself sliding down before someone manages to support me from behind.

Strong hands have me before strong arms are around my waist to hold me up as his voice comes out like it's stressed from my weight and in slow motion…

"What should I do with him?"

"Hm… Guess we could do as we planned…"

"And Cloud?"

"Out like a light…"

Then I hear Reno snicker in slow motion, which sounds even more unscrupulous than it normally does as he moves out of the way to reveal Cloud on the floor, unconscious or dead… I don't know.

All I really do know is that I think I'm on my way to being just as unconscious as Cloud and I'm wondering how in the hell that little bastard managed to knock us both out without either of us seeing it coming, and Reno's voice trails off in my head, "Gotta move fast, Man… Tseng can't be allowed ta get too far or Rufus'll have our hides fer lettin 'im… Oh yeah… Grab the gloves… I think he tucked em inta one of his buckle-things…"

* * *

"_You're bleeding…"_

"_I know… it's just a scratch…"_

"_No… It's more than a scratch… Let me see…"_

…


	34. Modeoheim

**Modeoheim**

* * *

"Nnnmmm…"

My own groans partially wake me enough to know that I'm moving as I struggle to open my eyes and try to look at the dimly lit surroundings, wondering if I'm right about assuming I'm surrounded by steel. The smell and sound of an engine along with voices from a direction I can't discern tells me that I'm not the one that's moving though…

It's a box, I think… metal…

The metal box is moving and I'm inside of it.

There's the odd rough bump that slightly lifts me from the floor, emphasizing a dull throbbing throughout my limbs, and the smell of dirt and fuel attack my senses, making me nauseas as I become more aware that I'm being transported. I can't seem to focus though, and every time I think I can make things out, a glaring light assaults my eyes with a sharp pain. It makes me wonder if there are trees or buildings blocking the light from an opening of some kind from time to time as I'm transported through the unknown and I hear a faint groan as if it's close to me. It causes an anxious knot to form in my gut.

I can't seem to make anything out though. So instead, I reach over to feel something beside me, warm and breathing, almost evenly, and I think I start to lowly growl as if I'm whining when an unforgiving pounding in my head suddenly becomes intolerable…

The only relief that I can find is by closing my eyes and attempting not to focus on anything, and then I start to feel dizzier and more ill the moment I start to wonder what the hell happened…

But…

Sleep…

Sleep is all I can think of and focus on…

Sleep makes it all go away…

If only it could make the dreams go away too…

* * *

Black water, shallow, spreads across a vast horizon mirrored by black skies with no depth. The only contrast is the pale and flat pebbles that show beneath the surface and the pale mist that rises and moves above the water. It's almost like glass, as still as it is. But unlike glass, it doesn't seem to reflect anything, not the mist, and not me, only the enveloping darkness

It remains that way when I take a step and remind myself that nothing real lives here, not even the torturous scent of lavender that suddenly catches my attention…

"Forgive me…" I mutter, suddenly aware of the events that passed; the ones that possibly put me wherever I am now and a strange emptiness becomes overbearing when I realize that this void is more reminiscent and real than I want it to be.

Everything around me reflects what's inside as I walk on still water without stirring it and through air that carries no wind or breeze. It's just a vast ocean of nothingness.

But something starts to happen when the thought of nothing becomes concrete. The water below me starts to move, almost in the pattern of breath, back and forth and hypnotic, and I stare at it with a tormenting desire while suddenly not wanting to be as alone as I always thought I wanted to be.

"Help me…" I think I hear someone say. But it's too faint to be sure. It almost runs in time with the movement of the water before I question if I can actually hear the small waves that are growing more aggressively.

They almost speak to me and if I didn't know any better, it almost sounds like they're telling me that it hurts… and I suddenly wish I could will myself to escape this prison as the need to awaken and find him grows with the swelling expansion of the mist.

It dances and starts to swirl as if something is moving through it, attempting to control it before a thin stream of it travels into my mouth and leaves a subtle taste like sweet nectar that's almost intoxicating. So much so that I almost don't hear the sound of my name traveling like the waves of the water as this new sensation envelopes me inside and out.

"Vince…" it says. It's a male voice, weak and distant and behind a faint accent that it almost succeeds at hiding, and I tilt my head back as if being caressed by something comforting and familiar.

"Tseng…" I breathe out before I gain enough control to resist the almost rapturous state that promises to consume me and I reluctantly turn around to see what I interpret as a wraith of a man materializing from the water. It's a man that I allow guilt and an irrational infatuation to consume me over.

His skin is as pale as the mist that moves about him and he looks as cold and statuesque as the smooth pebbles below the surface. His eyes are as black and unreflective as the water, empty and contrasting against his ghostly appearance and almost telling me that I've started something that I can't stop.

Maybe I can stop it this time though. Maybe I can undo the unknown whether it needs undoing or not, and I instinctually start to move toward him.

Only I'm stopped in my tracks when something that I can't see stops me, like an invisible barrier that I can't feel although I can't seem to pass it. It's like the dreams of the snow, and I wonder while trying to convince myself again that none of this is relative.

"You're alive… I know you are…" I state while lifeless eyes stare back at me through loose strands of hair that almost look wet, and I feel chills run down my spine as a familiar and tormenting dark chuckle fills the air, mocking me as the mist starts to materialize into another figure, drawing into it like breath.

_Sephiroth…_

He stands behind Tseng, seeming bigger than he normally is and he wraps his arm around the Turk's waist to pull him back so he can cup the man's jaw with his other hand and hold his empty attention in my direction. Then he presses his cheek against Tseng's and coyly smiles at me, more conniving than Reno is capable of.

"I almost had him," he tells me, smooth like a purring cat with its prey. "You almost gave him to me…"

"Almost…?" I repeat, a low husk that's barely heard as I say it like a question.

"Mm," Sephiroth answers and rubs his cheek against Tseng's to emphasize that he's playing a game that only he knows the rules to, "but he got to him first…"

"Him…?"

"He's done it before," Sephiroth says, still playing the cat as his hand slips through the front of Tseng's shirt and covers the wound that should have fatally killed him at the temple. But he shows no satisfaction or remorse over it, appearing to only want to draw attention to it as he tilts Tseng's head to face him as if the man is nothing more than a lifeless puppet while he continues to make me believe that this is nothing more than an amusing game to him, "But I don't mind the wait… something like this is worth it…"

Then he kisses the man, lightly, and looks at him like he adores him as empty as the figure in his arms is. It's almost like he prefers him that way, submissive and unresponsive as he brushes his gloved thumb along Tseng's jaw while watching me through the corner of his catlike eyes like he wants me to react. But I can't seem to react beyond the choking feeling that I can't seem to fight.

"Hm…" Sephiroth finally mutters, "I've always liked the fact that he could tell me without words… exactly what he wanted… His kiss…" Sephiroth purrs, "Demanding or submissive…" Then he turns to me and toys with an impish glow in his unnatural eyes and coyly smiles, "But you've never noticed… have you…? You should ask yourself why that is."

"What do you want from me?"

"I want you to open your eyes," he says, "and I want you to return him to me, safe… and sound." Then he wraps his arms more possessively around Tseng's waist and rubs his cheek against the other man's again.

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you have no will of your own," he answers, and he draws his eyes slowly from my head to my feet and then back as if he finds something amusing. "Which fate do you think would be worse?"

"I don't understand," I consequentially say, hoping and fearing that he'll offer some kind of answer to the puzzle that seems to continuously grow.

But all he tells me is, "Some things are worse than death …"

* * *

"Ngyah!" I call out when my body hits something hard and loud noises and shouting draws my attention.

_Gunfire, _I think, and the clashing of other weapons that sound like they're designed for contact are surrounding me, and I open my eyes to see wild, flame-coloured lights of varying hues flash through the small barred openings that I think should be near the top on the sides of the container that I'm in instead of at the top and the bottom while strong sulphuric scents invade my sense of smell.

It takes me a moment to realize that some kind of attack is taking place, and I take a quick look around the turned over container when I suddenly remember that there was someone beside me the last time I woke up.

"Mmmnnn…" he groans, and I mindlessly call out, "Tseng," when I catch a slight movement out of the corner of my unfocussed eyes.

But it's not him and I disappointingly mutter out, "Cloud," as I help him up when he attempts to move.

They must have taken him too, I think, without really knowing where it is that they were taking us and I quickly pull off my cloak so that I can use it to keep Cloud warm. Wherever we are, it feels like it might be cold and I don't think we have too much time if I'm going to take advantage of whatever surprises lay in store for us once we get out through the torn opening near the back of the container.

It looks like it was torn by a claw of some sort, and judging from the flashes that are dizzyingly lighting the inside without any pattern or length of time to allow me to see clearly, I'm assuming that it's large.

"C'mon…" I urge, keeping my voice low enough to not draw attention to us as I take him with me to the opening and pull on the torn metal as if it was paper in hopes of making the tear large enough for both of us to fit through, "We need to get out of here…"

* * *

Once the cold winds blast Cloud's cheeks and the reality of what's going on sinks in, he instinctively grabs his sword and stumbles as if he's ready to take on whatever battle he can't possibly take on in his present condition, and I find myself thinking of Tseng's stubborn streak when I tell him, "Not now…" and pull him back in hopes of getting us out of this mess unseen and no less for wear while taking note that there are no familiar faces around, not even the Turks.

All the while, I keep my hand near my gun as we stay low and attempt to get away from what looks like a Summon of some sort. I've never seen this one before though, leaving me with no name to give it, and judging from the amount of damage it's causing while one of the men that I don't recognize yells out, "Try to capture it!" I assume that it's possibly as powerful as a Neo Bahamut, or even a variation of it as I note that it has a similar dragon-like appearance to it.

Maybe it's an experiment gone wrong, I wonder, as I throw myself over Cloud and aim at it when it spots us in the cover of the nearby rock and forest entrance. But I don't fire and it quickly turns its attention back to the men it was attacking, leading me to assume that it's something personal as the Summon keeps everyone's attention away from us and I manage to get Cloud and myself into the safety of the woods.

"What's going on?" he mutters as his energy slowly comes back to him and the two of us continue to distance ourselves with the aid of the lights that the Summon is emitting while it continues to defend whatever it's defending.

"I don't know," I answer while silently admitting that I'd like to know. But at the same time, I have more important matters to tend to, like getting Cloud to Safety, finding out where we are, and finding out what happened to Tseng, and I find a sense of relief and hope from all of this madness when I spot what looks like it could be a town as we laboriously trek further through the deep snow and the unknown terrain.

* * *

As we approach though, my disappointment resurfaces. The town appears abandoned yet familiar in some way as I attentively scout the area for any sign of life, or even a food or water source for Cloud that isn't completely frozen.

"There should be an underground warehouse over there," he mutters and nods toward what looks like an old outbuilding. "It's underground… So it should be warm…"

"You know this place?"

"Yeah…" he answers, and then he stops and stares off to some mountain trails where there's a half-buried wreckage that looks like it was a helicopter and focuses on it like he's in some kind of trance. "We're in Modeoheim."

"Modeoheim?" I repeat and take another look at the vaguely familiar surroundings. Only the last time I recall seeing Modeoheim, both the town and myself were alive then. There were warm bath houses and cabins with warm fires, and resorts that catered to the ski and snowboarding trails that lead to the nearby town of Icicle Inn. But just like me, that life is gone now. Nothing looks like it was tended to for years if not decades, and the once welcoming glow of the town seems hostile and foreboding now, "What happened here?"

"Mako extraction," Cloud mumbles, still staring at the helicopter wreckage as if he's completely unaware of his surroundings, or maybe it's just the present that he's unaware of. "Rich source of Mako… once…"

"What's wrong?" I finally ask as his eyes slowly travel to the trails leading down to the town as if he sees something that haunts him.

"This is where I met Zack," he hypnotically answers.

Zack was a young Soldier that he admired and was friends with, and he was later bonded with him on a molecular level against his will, along with Sephiroth. It left him confused about who he really is or was.

"We crash-landed over there…" he quietly says while nodding at the wreckage and looking at it like he's seeing something other than what I'm seeing. "Tseng led the mission."

"Tseng?" I repeat, unable to hide the full interest in my tone and Cloud snaps out of whatever trance he was in to quickly glance sideways at me like he has a question that he either doesn't want to ask or doesn't know how to ask, and I suddenly lower my head, somewhat ashamed over my lack of control.

"Yeah…" he answers and slightly shivers, "He was different then…"

Then he turns back to the town and nods at the facility he initially pointed out, "We should get inside. It gets cold up here at nights… worse than Icicle Inn…"

"How different?" I ask, unable to focus on anything else that he said as I follow him and make no attempt to resist the urge to find out the things I've always wanted to know about Tseng.

"He wasn't as big of an asshole then," Cloud answers and shrugs as if he doesn't really know of any other way to put it. Then he snorts and mumbles that, "I remember overhearing him say that Aerith reminded him of his daughter once… That was why he asked for the job, whatever it was… But then again, I also remember watching him slug her hard enough to send her to the floor of his chopper while he gave Reno the orders to drop the plate on Sector 7… and I also remember him handing her off to Hojo…"

"I heard about that…" I mutter, somewhat thankful that I was still wallowing in my own tomb then. But I can't deny that it makes me more curious about him than I already am, "What changed him?"

"I dunno," Cloud indifferently answers, and he quickens his pace after he shivers again. Then he sighs and slightly shakes his head. "They all seemed to change after the Hollander incident…"

"Hollander?"

"It's what started the whole mess," Cloud answers and bitterly snorts, "and it sounds better than saying the other name…"

"What name?" I ask as we approach the entrance to what looks like a small building and Cloud kicks the door down. Then he tenses up and peers in as if he's expecting an ambush that doesn't exist—ever cautious. I can only assume that he's haunted by something as he stealthily moves toward an old railing that leads to stairs that are no longer there.

"Sephiroth…" he resentfully spits out. Then he jumps down to the lower level and lands in a cloud of dust with his sword readied, "I suppose you could say he wasn't really the one that started it though," he reflects, and adds in a more bitter tone than he was already speaking in, "Considering that none of it would have happened if it wasn't for Hollander and Hojo competing with one another."

"Hollander…" I curiously repeat as the word strikes me as familiar and I suddenly remember a scientist that Hojo used to work with. They were distant partners as I recalled them. "What did he have to do with it?"

"Sephiroth wasn't the only one," Cloud answers. "He was just the most damaging… If I recall correctly, there was three of them…"

"Three Sephiroth's…" I repeat while not really liking the sound of that.

"No," Cloud says. "They were all different… One of them actually managed to fight off the effects of Jenova… sort of…"

He trails off at that point and suddenly stares at his sword as if he's seeing it for the first time, holding it vertically in front of him.

"His name was Angeal…" he hypnotically says, like he never knew what the man's name was before. Then he almost looks confused and tilts his head to the side, "And he gave this sword to Zack…"

Instead of saying anything in regard to my own concerns, I simply walk up to him and stare at his sword along with him before my attention travels to him as he shakes his head and starts walking again. "The other one was the reason we came here… At the time, he was a greater threat than Sephiroth."

"I don't see how that's possible," I say, unable to hide the fact that I find it hard to believe as I follow him to another set of stairs leading downward and he tests them to see if they're stable enough to walk on.

"Mm," he mumbles and nods as if he approves and starts walking down. "If it wasn't for the degradation he was suffering from, he probably would've been an exact match. He was also the most competitive and seemed to want everything that Sephiroth had, regardless of whether he really wanted it or not…" With another sarcastic snort, Cloud mumbles that, "They were supposedly the best of friends…"

"Everything that Sephiroth had…" I repeat, suddenly thinking about Tseng with some newer concerns to add to the old ones.

"Yeah…" Cloud mutters and sarcastically snorts again. Then he stops and looks around before offering a short nod to say that this is as far as he needs to go. "But Genesis never struck me as having the same _interests_ as Sephiroth…"

"Genesis," I reflect, and I wonder if I'm just being paranoid about the way Cloud seemed to emphasize the word, 'interests,' like he knows or suspects something that he isn't elaborating on.

"Mm," Cloud mumbles and starts picking up pieces of broken wood that are scattered about. "That was his name."

Then he nods over at some more piles of wood scattered against the walls and assumes that, "We're probably going to need a lot… I've got some food in my pack," before he pauses and appears to withdraw inward and mutters, "or maybe not," as he turns his attention to me and stares at me like he suddenly remembered that I don't need warmth or sustenance.

But there's also some questioning in his eyes as he stares at me for a moment longer before he shakes it off and throws the wood in a loose pile and mutters out, "Fire," to ignite it. Then he throws my cloak back to me and sits down while quietly stating, "I doubt he's dead."

"Sephiroth?" I ask as I numbly watch him and completely fail to notice that he even threw my cloak at me.

"No…" Cloud answers, still keeping his back to me as he digs through his pack for some food with a strange disinterest in the whole situation, and then he clarifies that he meant, "Tseng…" before he takes a bite of what looks like a piece of cured meat and struggles to chew it back.

* * *

It's almost an hour before either of us says anything again and Cloud looks for ways to make himself comfortable while I stand with my back against the concrete wall with my leg bent high enough so that I can rest my foot against it. The whole time, my mind constantly wanders in ways that I've personally designed to torture myself with.

It doesn't even seem to bother me that Cloud is acting more indifferent than he usually does either, and it's probably mostly because I've come to the conclusion that he's somewhere that he doesn't want to be and that he probably suspects that if it wasn't for the state that he's in and the questions I struggle to hold back on, that I probably would have left in pursuit of my own agenda already.

Unwanted memories are the one thing I've become an expert on though, and despite the nagging questions about what Cloud knows about Tseng, I decide that it's probably best to wait for a more appropriate time. Though I wouldn't stop him from saying anything that he can tell me about how he remembers him as I remain quiet and in the shadows, constantly hiding from everything and nothing.

But it seems that Cloud isn't as oblivious as I'd like him to be and once he's gotten a makeshift bed set up, he starts talking again, almost like it's not really him. Not once though, does he bother to look at me and not once does he make the effort to raise his voice to accommodate our distance as he reminisces through times that carried less burdens.

"There was a rumour about them…"

"Who?"

"Tseng and Sephiroth…" he quietly answers. "But I never believed it."

Then he turns and looks at me like he's questioning it and I wind up lowering my face behind the safety of my mantle while he silently draws his conclusions over recent events.

"I assumed it was mostly because they were roommates and because Sephiroth had a reputation."

"A reputation…?" I repeat while Cloud throws some more wood on the fire and shrugs.

"They were just rumours… about him and other soldiers… but the fact that Tseng was married and only moved in with Sephiroth because his apartment was destroyed after his wife… well… I just never believed it…" he answers and shrugs again, "Besides… they never really acknowledged each other beyond business…"

"What do you know about his wife?"

"Dunno… besides what the press said. The rumour was that she went crazy, and one night, she just snapped… smothered their little girl to death and then killed herself."

"What did the press say?"

"The official word was that they were victims of an accident."

"Accident…"

"Yeah," he responds before snorting and picking up a narrow stick to poke at the fire with. "It was before I was enlisted, and when it comes to Shinra, it's hard to know what the real truth is or if there's any at all."

"Hm," I mutter and lower my head in thought before deciding that I want to know more while trying to make it sound less desperate. "There must have been more rumours then…"

"Mm… Some are harder to believe than others," he hypnotically answers. "For instance, they say that he became an alcoholic after he lost his family… Well, I suppose it isn't hard to believe even though I never saw him drink… But that rumour led to the one about why he was banned from ever going to Gongaga again, by Shinra…"

"Banned?" I repeat while recalling that Tseng gave me the impression that it was his own choice.

"Yeah… Apparently he was a violent drunk and that he nearly killed some guy when he was sent on a mission there… just some man that he saw in a pub… walked up to him and started beating on him for no reason."

Then he snorts and looks over at me with a distant look to his mako-enhanced eyes while I wonder if it's true and that maybe it was his father.

"I guess… I just find it hard to believe because of what he did for us…"

"Us?"

"Mm… When Zack and I were captured after the mess with… well… I think he lied for us… to Shinra…" he distantly says as his eyes slowly move to the empty air and he stares off into it. "I think he knew where we were and that the Turk who lied to him about not finding us was lying to him, and he just… let us go…"

After that, he shrugs again and then turns his attention back to the fire.

"But then again, after seeing what kind of person he turned into when Sephiroth came back… Well, it's hard to know what's true and what's not… Not that it matters much anyway… I think we need to worry more about what we're gonna do now…"

I only nod in agreement while I watch Cloud lie down and stare at the dusty beams above us before I quietly ask, "Any idea who those men were?"

"The one's that were transporting us?"

"Mm."

"The highest bidders…" he casually answers as if none of this is remotely new or surprising to him. "That's my guess…"

Then he closes his eyes and gives in to the waning effect of whatever it was that the Turks used to put us to sleep with and I wonder why in the hell someone would have taken us this far north while worrying about my dreams again.

* * *

"…_I want you to return him to me, safe… and sound."_

"_Why would I do that?"_

"_Because you have no will of your own,"_

* * *

Cloud and I spent weeks searching, starting in the Northern Continent in hopes of finding Tseng. He offered to help me and I naturally refused. But I guess because he figured he was already there and involved in a roundabout way that he might as well ignore my refusal.

We spent nights seeking shelter for him to keep warm or dry and days searching and hunting, and at times, I almost felt resentful of his presence and even went so far as to accuse him of slowing me down. He never asked what any of it was about though. He never even brought up the fight between me and Reno or the accusation that I threw at the redheaded serpent either.

Instead, he would only give me a strange look whenever I did or said anything that I probably shouldn't have did or said. Then he would quietly come up with his own assumptions, much like he's done since the day that I met him.

I suppose I should be thankful though, and the fact that he offered another outlook during our search allowed me to uncover more options than I would have come up with on my own.

However, once we hit the warmer climates, I started getting more agitated by his need to sleep and eat and I wound up leaving him alone in the middle of the night once I felt it was safe enough for him to do so.

_Sorry Cloud…_

* * *

Since then I've looked everywhere. I even went back to the farm with the bittersweet hopes that I would find him there, ready to kiss him and kill him at the same time. Instead though, I found out that the Turks were just as much in the dark as I was. But I stayed for a while in hopes that some kind of lead would show up.

Only it never did. It was nearly a daily repetition of Reno pushing Rufus to let him look for Tseng and Rufus always telling him that he already had people out looking for him and that he needed his top Turks for other ventures.

He would always say it in his typically unaffected way and it was starting to get under my skin, especially after Rufus dealt with a lengthy phone call that brought a twisted grin to his face as he toyed with whoever it was on the other line. Then he hung up with a satisfactory sigh while staring at Reno who seemed to be staring at something on the floor as if he was in a daze.

"By the way, those men that you sold Cloud and Vincent to were just on the phone and they want their money back. What do you suggest we do?"

"Fuck that, Man… It was a sound deal… If they can't hang onto the goods they paid for, it ain't my problem."

"My thoughts exactly… Perhaps we should let them know how we feel then," Rufus musically replied before he walked up to Reno and straightened the man's collar. "I have to admit that I'm rather curious about why they wanted them in the first place though."

"Dunno…" the redhead muttered while casually staring at his boss's hair, "All I know is that ya said ta get rid of him without drawin attention ta you, an they mentioned somethin 'bout extractin some kind'a materia from Valentine… Think they were only takin Cloud as a bonus…" Then he snickers while his boss wryly smirks.

"Well, as long as Tseng never finds out—when we find him—and you find another creative way to make Valentine disappear, I suppose all will be well," Rufus replied and proceeded to brush some dirt off of Reno's jaw while continuing to muse, "and I believe that you and Rude will be able to make sure of that."

"Sure…"

After that Reno quickly walked outside and muttered to Rude that, "Fuck, Man, I really thought he was gonna kill us fer losin Tseng again…"

"You keep saying that."

"Yeah well… I'm still freakin out over it… Ain't ya noticed how calm he's bein 'bout the whole thing?"

"Guess he's just getting used to Tseng's constant disappearances."

"Hm… Well I ain't… In fact, I think it freaks me out a little more each time… An each time he gets more reclusive than he was before, not ta mention that how do we even know there's gonna be a next time… I mean I think that maybe Rufus should consider that."

"Maybe Rufus has just come to rely on the fact that Tseng always comes back."

"Whatever Man… Even if he does come back, we're still gonna hafta piss him off by gettin rid'a Valentine… Heh… Then again, maybe he won't care so much after what went down at Nibelheim…"

_Each time…_ I muse, while fighting the urge to kill the little bastard for more than just jealousy now and wondering exactly how many times Tseng has vanished from the face of the earth. Then I turn my attention back to Rufus as he picks up his phone and starts dialling while I conclude that as devious as Reno is, it would appear that he has nothing to do with it and that his only job was to get rid of me.

"Yes…" Rufus says when someone on the other line answers. Then he looks through his window and watches the Turks walking away from his office while he takes on a colder and more heartless look, "I don't care about the complications… Fix it or I'll find someone who's more capable of doing their job."

It figures, I snidely think, that Rufus is more interested in his business than he is in his own Turk, supposed best friend, and ex-lover.

* * *

From there, I've searched the world three times over to the point of exhaustion. Months have passed and I find myself retiring back to the town of Kalm with no resources left to investigate and a bottle of lavender that I bought for whatever reason that I can't seem to come up with, except for the fact that it brings me a strange and conflicting sense of comfort. However, the town seems emptier now, even with the festivals lighting up the town's square and I start to develop a new form of resentment over it.

Or maybe it's just me that's emptier now.

Maybe it's the fact that I'm wondering what the point ever was as I walk into the familiar Inn and throw some gil that I earned during my travels onto the counter for the matron.

There was a time when I came here because of the familiar feeling and the sense of belonging that it offered. But now I'm only coming here because I can't think of anywhere else to go, and once I open that familiar door to a familiar room, I take a look at the emptiness and think of the void that my meaningless life has become.

Then I take off the chain that Lucrecia gave to me—having lost again—and I no longer see the point in hanging onto it. All it does is remind me of everything I've ever done wrong and everyone I've ever lost, and I toss it out the window while wishing I'd never been awakened by Cloud and his friends.

There was never any rhyme or reason to my life, not even from the start. At least none that I can think of, and for the first time in several months, I lay down without fearing what kind of taunting concoction Sephiroth will bring from the grave this time, knowing now that the dead can't escape the dead, and I finally come to terms with the fact that I deserve no less anyway.

After all, none of this would have happened if I'd only listened to Tseng in the first place and stayed away.

* * *

"_Vince…"_

It's just like every night since I shot him. His voice calls my name, despite how weary I am of hearing it now and despite how much hope it used to fill me with even though I still can't fight the urge to see him again.

But something is different this time.

I rarely dream that I'm in my bed or even in Kalm, and I rarely hear the noises that sound so real from the outside. Nor is anything generally thrown at me or causes me to sit up or to open my eyes to look down and see what landed in my lap…

It's Lucrecia's locket, and at first, I stare at it in confusion before I feel a strange chill run up my spine and a gut-wrenching churning flares up in my central nerves as a strange waft of filth and alcohol fills my nostrils.

And I think to myself, something is wrong, before I slowly look to the foot of my bed and see a wraith of a man standing there. His skin is so pale that it reflects the weak lights from outside, but it's streaked with dark marks and his hair is so black that it blends into the darkness. Only this time it looks dirty, oily, and stringy as it hangs over those eyes that usually shine like obsidian.

They seem bitterer than I remember them and I can only assume that they are when I take note of the gun he's shakily aiming at me when he angrily tells me that, "I wish I'd never met you…"

Then I jump as the loud bang almost hurts my ears and a bright ignition briefly flashes from the end of his gun, lighting up the room, and I think to myself after the initial shock that temporarily freezes me that the bastard missed, and I think he missed on purpose.

Then he falls to the floor with a hard thud that makes me cringe while I dumbly wonder why he's here, and I take a quick glance around before realizing that I'm not dreaming.


	35. A Sleep Without Dreams

**A Sleep Without Dreams**

* * *

"Tseng?" I dumbly ask, still stunned by what I think might have just happened. Then I quickly jump to the edge of the bed like a frantic animal, half-expecting to see nothing more than the shadow of a phantom and almost hoping that it's nothing more than a trick of the mind before the reality sinks in and I see him lying on the floor, contorted, filthy, and weakly breathing.

"Tseng!" I repeat, hoping it will add some kind of substance before I quickly jump to the floor to check his pulse and almost gag over the strong stench of alcohol and grime. He smells like he hasn't changed his clothes or bathed during the entire time he was missing, and I quickly brush it off in favour of the fact that his pulse is present. It's faint and irregular though, despite that he has enough energy to weakly move his arm in an attempt to push my hand away while mumbling something that sounds like, "Leave me alone…"

I only frown at the irony and choose to ignore him while carefully carrying him to the bed while recoiling when he winces with a sharp hiss. Then I put him down as gently as I can and almost feel a weight drop inside when he turns his head away and I see red marks on his neck. They look like bruises from strong fingers. Then I take a closer look at the rest of him and note what almost looks like rope-burns around his wrists.

"What happened to you?" I mutter, and I wipe a black smudge from the hollow of his cheek with my thumb. Then, unable to stop myself, I wind up removing his shirt to explore the rest of him while feeling more ill by the moment and finding myself focussing on another time when I should have helped him but didn't. Only this time, I can't help but feel more responsible for it.

I also doubt that the remnants left marks on him that resemble the overuse of needles along his arms, torso, and legs, and I also doubt that they left marks that resemble the possibility that he might have been strapped down or tied up. Then I wind up stepping back with my finger curled over my mouth like he often does when he's deep in thought or attempting to hide a smile that he doesn't want others noticing, and I go completely blank without knowing what else to do.

Whatever he's been through and wherever he's been has left marks that suggest he may have escaped from something, somewhere, or someone. There are dry and scabbed friction burns around his wrists and ankles and there are similar marks across his chest and upper legs that suggest he's had plenty of time to heal.

And for some reason or other, I can't seem to wipe the image of him and Elena from my mind on the day that I found them in the Forgotten Capital while a nagging voice in the back of my mind keeps telling me that the endless guilt I feel in regard to him may be my greatest addiction.

"Kjata…" I mutter, not really knowing why as I continue to stand here and stare at the marks on his body. Then I manage to build enough sense to tell myself that I can't just stand here and do nothing while waiting for him to wake up, and I walk into the bathroom to pull an old pail from under the sink and rinse off a washcloth that's covered in dust so that I can get him cleaned up.

* * *

He hardly stirs when I remove the rest of his clothes to wipe him down. But every now and then, he winces from discomfort and I try to keep my mind occupied from the worst by wondering why he came to me, despite his dramatic entrance that doesn't strike me as a threat. He's never failed to remind me that I could never be a part of his life like them—the Turks that he views as his family. Nor does he ever attempt to hide the fact that Shinra is what makes him feel like he belongs somewhere.

Regardless of the questions that border on scepticism though, I can't deny the fact that it fills me with a slight feeling of accomplishment or triumph as I sit beside his unconscious form. He's been full of inner conflicts since the first day he mysteriously showed up in my life, and I lean over to rest my dry lips on his cool forehead while wondering what it is that eats away at him. He could have shot me, I think, like I did to him. Yet he didn't.

I can only sigh at the thought while I lightly brush my thumb over the corner of his mouth and stroke his soiled hair before pulling the covers over him when I'm done. After that, I furrow my brows and tighten my jaw as I reluctantly pick Lucrecia's necklace from the floor and wonder…

Nothing is ever as easy as I would like it to be. From the first days that I can remember to a time when I became a Turk and was assigned to Nibelheim. I fell in love with a beautiful woman that I always suspected was in love with my father, only to be betrayed by her and the man that she married.

But I never used to look at it that way. Instead, I blamed myself for most of her decisions and for never being able to stop her.

Maybe it's fate, I wonder, hoping that it's not a sign while thinking of how ironic it is that her son's lover—now mine—would be the one to bring it back to me. But how it came into his possession is no more of a mystery than how he suddenly showed up, where he came from, why, or even what happened to him, and I simply sit here staring at him as I sit by his side with a nagging desire for him to wake up so that I can at least get half of my questions answered.

* * *

He sleeps through the rest of the night and through the next day though, causing me to worry more without realizing that it's as if he's an empty shell all the sudden. He breathes, stirs, and feels warm to the touch. But there is something different about the way he feels when I touch him and I can't quite put my finger on what it is.

It's almost like a connection that I don't think I've noticed before has been broken, and I find myself spending more time attempting to figure out what it is while I lay beside him, stand at the foot of the bed, the side of the bed, and emptily stare at him while wanting to get some fresh food and clothes for him when he wakes. Yet at the same time, I find myself unable to leave him alone for fear that he'll disappear if I let him out of my sight again.

And to add to the weight, I can't help but ask myself why the thought of seeking medical help for him causes such a tight tension in my gut if he means something to me, and all the while I attempt to argue with myself over the fact that it may simply be a selfish act because I fear that the Turks will come for him if I do.

* * *

From there, three more days pass and I take to kneeling at the side of the bed and running a clean cloth dipped in broth along his mouth to stop him from dehydrating or starving. I even manage to place small bits of food in his mouth that he manages to chew in whatever state he's in, and it isn't until the third day when I'm trying to see if I can get him to eat more that I realize what it is that feels so empty about his presence all the sudden.

I haven't dreamt since he arrived.

Nor has there been any connection between us when I touch him. Not once have I felt the strange static that I never really noticed until now, and not once have I fallen into the strange visions of his past. It's as if there's nothing pulling me towards him like before. Nothing unusual is happening in his presence and nothing is mysteriously calling out to me.

I wouldn't say that my feelings toward him have changed though, and since I've been able to view him more objectively without feeling like I'm being influenced by an exterior force, I'm suddenly feeling more comfortable over the fact that I think my feelings for him may have always been genuine even if they were questionably influenced or somewhat self-indulgent.

And while I'm wiping his mouth from some food that spills from the corner, I notice his eyelids flutter as if he's trying to wake up, and anticipation lights up inside of me like an unrestrained fire as I take subtle note of the golden light that shines through the minimal cracks of the heavy curtains that seem to be adding to the lift inside while I falter, his eyes struggle to open, and he mutters out, "Vince…" in a hoarse and dry voice with an irritated look on his face.

"I'm right here," I tell him while thoughtfully brushing his hair with my fingers and watching him roll his eyes back in an attempt to force them to focus better.

Then he forces himself to sit up, determined to fight against the state that he's in and he weakly brushes his hair behind his ear with a shaky hand and mutters, "I hoped it was a dream…" as if to himself before looking disgusted at the realization of how dirty his hair is.

Then he emptily sets his attention on the necklace on the end table—no longer around my neck—and he stares at it with no expression until a slight sneer appears and he stubbornly tries to get up and nearly falls over from not using his legs for so long.

But instead of attempting to scold or reason with him like I want to right now, I catch him and help him sit back down on the bed, and I frown when he tells me that he's filthy and needs to get cleaned up.

"You need your rest."

"I've rested enough."

"Then let me help you…"

* * *

Despite the reality of the situation, I almost smile when I focus on how stubborn the man is and I guiltily wonder if he was as determined to put his frail condition aside after the remnants tortured him.

Nothing ever seems to stop him once he sets his mind to something. But out of all of the more pressing priorities he could have had, the one he decides to focus on is the fact that he's filthy, and I find myself holding him closer than I probably need to while I wonder if he's only doing it to keep his mind from whatever happened to him as I help him to the bathroom and ignore him when he tells me that he doesn't need my help.

He doesn't react to the fact that I ignore his request though, as passively strange as it is, and he doesn't try to push me away like he'd normally do. And to my surprise, he cooperates completely, even when I urge him to sit on the edge of the tub and I build enough courage to detachedly ask him, "Where were you?"

"I don't know…" is all he says, almost chilling in the detached way that he says it. Then he leans his head against the wall and stares into space like he doesn't have enough energy to even care about the answer, and I wind up clenching my jaw as a result while the next few minutes drag on like an eternity as I start filling the tub.

All the while, he emptily stares into space and I quietly try to subdue the feeling of thorns growing inside until he finally settles his attention on me as if he's stuck in some sort of lifeless dream and asks, "When you woke up… How did you feel?"

And for some reason, the question takes me off guard and makes me unexplainably defensive, and to avoid what I think the essence of it really is, I reflect on the night that he returned instead.

"Like there was an asshole standing at the foot of my bed," I flatly answer, and he shakes his head like a part of him knows my response is nothing more than avoidance and he continues to emptily stare at me as I stare at the water with a faint regret over saying something so unnecessarily cold.

"No…" he says. Then he clarifies and weakly presses, "I meant when you woke up after realizing you weren't yourself anymore."

And now it sinks in, something that I fear is not really about me. But I try to brush the nagging feeling away as I reach down to turn the taps off and try to convince myself that I'm turning it into something that it isn't before muttering with a tightened jaw in hopes of changing the topic, "Betrayed."

"I see…" he quietly says, still watching me with eyes that appear to be focussing better than they were as he shakily leans forward and rests his hand on the edge of the tub to keep himself steady and personable. "You had everything going for you…" he presses, barely above a coarse whisper, "A career… Talent… Looks…" Then he weakly muses with a misleadingly soft and soothing tone that almost croons with a conflicting cruelty as he leans even closer, "You must have felt more than betrayed."

"Those things weren't important," I hoarsely mutter, partially burying my face from his sight by lowering my chin and focussing on the water instead of him. Then I habitually sigh when it hits me that I'm just as much of a liar as he is. It's all in vain though, because despite how vulnerable he appears to be right now, he's still able to read me better than anyone I've ever known.

"I don't believe you," he distantly responds before I lower my head more in an attempt to avoid his penetrating eyes and I reach over to help him remove the sheet he's managed to tangle himself in as he leans back and stares at me in a way that makes me feel judged for no logical reason.

"I don't know what I felt," I finally admit while unintentionally clenching my jaw again and keeping my other thoughts to myself, mostly my concerns as I coax him as gently as I can to let me remove the blanket entirely, "Maybe… I was scared…"

Then I pull him forward so I can help keep him steady and I lower my head when I feel his hand weakly move over the ends of my hair, almost compassionately.

"And maybe…" I continue as I note that his subtle shaking doesn't appear to be from frailty or low temperatures, "I was appalled."

"Appalled…" he distantly repeats. Then he pauses for a moment before surprising me by tilting my head so that he can tiredly gaze at me in a form of mindless study as he emptily stares into my unnaturally coloured eyes.

After that, he moves his attention to my unnaturally pale skin and subtly brushes his thumb over my cheek before I break the strange spell by nervously looking away and quickly shaking my head to hide behind the security of my bangs as if I could somehow recoil and hide.

"I wasn't me anymore."

"How long did it take you to accept it?" he asks, turning clinical as he asks while I help him into the water and he hangs onto me as if he's more afraid of letting go than I am of letting him go, and I regretfully admit that, "I never did."

"I see."

Then he turns his attention to the tiles like he suddenly wants to avoid me, and I grab the cloth to start cleaning him while growing more concerned over the uncomfortable silence that follows.

* * *

There are so many questions and so little opportunity to ask them as my jaw becomes sore from keeping my teeth clenched in an attempt to hold back a growing storm inside. More days pass and the stiffness settles into my limbs from emotions that I don't understand or want to reveal. Everything about him since he awoke seems confused and distant, even his eyes that are usually hard and hypnotic seem distant and empty, sometimes melancholy and unfocussed like he's stuck in an unending sleep without dreams.

And he's passive, letting me dictate where he sits and sleeps, right down to what he eats and drinks, and when.

The best I've been able to get out of him is that he doesn't remember anything besides a long corridor, sterile. After that, all he recalls is cold and bitter snow, and frozen shores where he thinks he found transportation.

"I'm certain I was near Modeoheim…" he states, "But… I may have been further north…"

He remembers very little after that though, and though I wish he wouldn't, he comments that he'd like to go back to the Northern Continent to see if he can find out more about what really happened. He tells me that it's almost like the last time he disappeared—after the temple—and the only thing he remembers clearly this time is when he found himself in Kalm.

He can't remember how he got here or why, except that he thought he might have been looking for me before Lucrecia's Necklace was thrown at him from my window, which led him to a tavern to drink the desire to find me away.

"You frustrate me to no end…" he tells me. "Your constant insults… and the desire to put you out of your misery… and mine… seemed desirable…"

_Kjata_… I thought, _So that's why he fired his gun at me._

And consequently, I can't help but focus on how much of an idiot I am and less on the fact that he doesn't remember what happened before he disappeared. Though he does recall talking to Reno and someone shooting him without being able to recall who or why, and I don't bother to enlighten him while I listen and grow angrier over the fact that no one knows anything and that it could have been avoided if only I had a shred of self-control.

But the fact that I don't know what could have been avoided is what bothers me the most as I continue to tend to him like I owe him while hoping that my guilt doesn't raise any questions.

And for the most part, I sit beside him quietly, and it almost seems like we're two strangers who don't know what to say to one another. And like a guard hound, I constantly watch him for signs that could answer any one of the multitude of questions that plague me as I force myself to patiently wait for him to come around on his own.

* * *

The nights are worse than the days though, and they cause even more confusion. He mutters strange words in broken Wutian that barely make sense. Most of it has something to do with a genesis, and I wonder why it bothers me when I tell myself that it must have something to do with Sephiroth's desire to destroy the world in favour of his warped vision of what should have been.

And if it wasn't for his progress that makes me think he's getting better, I might have been more concerned as days turn into weeks and we grow more comfortable with each other's company as if this is the way it's always been for us. Perhaps it's only the fact that he's a familiar presence to me that I don't seem to mind his lack of affection beyond friendship.

It's strange, since he came back. It's as if a part of him went missing. But it hasn't changed the fact that I think I still feel something more for him than I should even though I strangely honour the fact that he's made it more than clear that he doesn't want to carry on with a relationship that goes beyond friendship.

I may not have been entirely honest about how much it bothered me though, particularly when he muttered out on a night that I thought was safe to test the waters by a stolen kiss, and he turned his head away while coldly stating, "I'm tired of being used by you…"

"Then why did you come back?" I quietly asked, almost angry but not sure with whom before he slightly lifted my spirit amidst the ever-growing conflicts by answering, "You're the only one I can trust."

_Yeah… right…_ I think, as I reflect on questions with no answers and wait for him to finish bathing like we've been doing for weeks now. All the while, I stare blankly at the necklace that still sits on the night stand. Neither of us has touched it or even acknowledged it, and that's about all the thought I give to it while I wait for him to come out smelling like lavender and missing the subtle scent of cologne that I'd come to familiarize him with.

That's about all I can do though, is spend my time waiting, reflecting, and wondering about the most recent events and the lack of his biting spark. Every question I ask him about his disappearance gets brushed off as if he doesn't really care.

Yet to contradict it all, he's developed a growing and disturbing obsession with the Northern Continent, believing that it's where he was, and I wonder if the answer lies there too. But I can't deny the fact that I want to avoid the possibility at all costs due to my unsubstantiated dreams, and I also can't deny the fact that I may be deliberately standing in his way all the sudden.

* * *

Maybe it's strange to feel relieved when he comes out and pulls my focus away from my thoughts, and maybe it's strange to feel slightly moved by the way he avoids my concerned stare when he walks out of the bathroom without the spark that he used to carry. He looks drained still, and he reaches for his cuff to adjust his non-existent watch out of habit. Then he quickly glances at me before turning his attention to the small open kitchen and scans his tired eyes over the counters and cupboards before stating that he'd like to go into town with me.

"What for?" I ask, realizing that there's a hint of sarcasm and disbelief in my tone over the fact that he'd openly say he'd like to be seen with me. But all he does is shrug and quickly shake his head as if he's not offended, or even surprised by the question or the insensitive tone. Then he sits on the wooden chair by the small table and says that he's starting to feel suffocated.

"You've barely been able to walk," I remind him while hiding the further concern over how hard his dignity would be hit if he lost his balance in public and I had to aid him.

But he tells me, "I'm feeling much better… and I'm rather tired of eating this…" For a moment, he seems like his old self while he waves his hand in a circular motion and then flips a piece of bread on a plate over to emphasize his distaste and growing restlessness. Then he looks down at the ill-fitting clothes he managed to dig up in the small dresser that I've never had any use for.

"I could use some decent clothes too…" he comments, growing quieter before staring off into space after mindlessly jerking his hand towards his pocket. But there's no locket for him to trace his fingers over and I habitually sigh over the fact that everything we do or say seems futile.

* * *

I suppose it's no surprise that I'd give into him though. At this point, I realize I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to do more for him than I'm capable of doing. I even offer my cloak so that he can hide his appearance before he turns down my offer by shaking his head and waving his hand at it while indifferently stating that, "No one ever comes here."

Maybe he's right, I wonder. Though the fact that he turns the offer down causes me to silently question why he hasn't bothered to try to contact the Turks during all this time. It's a question that nags at me constantly and I question it even more when I reflect on how he doesn't even show concern over the fact that they may be looking for him. But then again, maybe that's his plan, and maybe he knows what I'm thinking as he faintly smiles while curling his finger over his mouth to hide his amusement.

Then he subtly shakes his head and states as if to reassure me that, "From what I recall, the taverns in Kalm are dark, Vince…"

"They are," I uncomfortably admit before he finally turns his attention to me and holds it for more than a brief passing of seconds, unreadable, and I stare back with a desire to be closer, despite how concerned I am over the strange changes in his character.

But something holds me back…

Something's been holding me back since the day he returned, and I'm starting to wonder if it's the same thing that's ended the dreams and the connection I used to feel.

* * *

The tavern seems to alleviate my confusion though, as it moves my cautious and protective attention to our surroundings when we both enter. But not a single person looks up as we make our way to an available table in the darker protection of the shadows where we sit quietly and apart from each other.

From there, he quietly eats and I remain silent, inconspicuously watching him while he keeps his back to the wall and frequently glances at the tavern's surroundings with keen and observing eyes as if he's looking for something. He never lets on about what he's looking for though, and I tell myself that he's only being cautious while trying to fight off the feeling that he might have contacted one of his Turks without me knowing and is waiting for them to rescue him from my dire company.

Nothing happens though, and we go from the tavern to find some suitable clothes, and we wind up in a bakery to satisfy his sweet tooth before we return home to watch the news on the small television like we've been doing every evening. He seems content to simply stay here, accepting that the closest I'll let myself get to him is by putting my arm around him. But I'm unable to express any emotion beyond that, and to my dismay, I believe it's what he prefers.

And now, after we return from an outing that seems more like a dream, we sit beside each other on the bed, too comfortable to be enemies, too close to be friends, and too distant to be anything else. He leans against me while I rest my arm across his shoulder and like the routine it's become, we silently watch the news together. All the while, he picks at some kind of cinnamon concoction that appears sickeningly sweet while I silently assume that it's only to substitute the affections that he misses from his lover before me. They're things I can never add up to.

He no longer bothers to offer me any though. It's as if he's come to terms with the fact that there's no point in pursuing what he views as an empty void.

But why it takes me this long to sort it all out is beyond me as I grit my teeth like I so often do when I'm bothered by my thoughts and I tighten my arm around him, turn off the television, and ignore him when he tells me with a mouth full of reminders of Sephiroth that, "I was watching that."

"It's over," is all I tell him, emptily staring at a blank screen as he licks his fingers clean and swallows before grumbling that, "No it isn't… It was just starting to get interesting."

I don't really hear him though. Instead, I focus on the sickening scent of sugary syrup and cinnamon, thinking of the sweet taste in my mouth when Sephiroth taunted me in my dreams. Then I turn my attention to Tseng and stare at him like I'm seeing him for the first time, breathing that familiar scent out of habit and focussing on it like I'm noticing something different for the first time.

He's right. There's nothing feminine about him. Everything about him, right down to his quiet presence is masculine and I've been avoiding that truth, although it's been obvious to me from the start and that I've been telling myself that from the start.

And like a man, he has the same needs as a man, like my own, and I've been denying it in favour of my own.

Or simply out of denial.

It's been so long since anyone has entered my life and stirred anything in me that I fear I'm not able to comprehend what I'm really feeling anymore. Nor am I able to know how to properly respond or even how to let go, and I'm suddenly believing that it may be why everything about our relationship has been selfish, cruel, and full of denial as I fear I'm seeing it clearly now.

I'm also noticing the fact that he's not keen on the way that I'm staring at him as he slowly turns to me and coldly stares back. I don't take it to heart though. It's what he does when he feels threatened. The wall goes up and the emotions wash away to a safe place somewhere deep inside.

His cold austerity is nothing more than a defence mechanism to hide the fact that he's more feeling than he'll admit to, and he attempts to pull back while I take the time to realize what I'm realizing.

But my hold on him is like a vice, as unconscious as it is and as conflicting as it is while I hide the fact that I'm nervously contemplating making amends because I'm suddenly realizing that I never viewed him as a substitute. I think I may have been sending the wrong signals since the beginning even though I never really paid much attention to what he really is as opposed to who he really is.

And at that, I pull him closer while tilting his chin so I can kiss him, less demanding than I normally do while attempting to mimic the submissiveness that I've come to expect from him, and I hope to high hell that I'm not just leading him on again, for both our sakes as I undo the buttons on his shirt and run my hand along his chest in a wanton admiration while noting that he's not pushing me away.

All the while, his kiss follows my lead by growing more dominating by the second as he adjusts to accommodate us both better, breathing heavy and encouraging the dizziness caused by my uncertainty. But I do my best to fight the suffocating feeling as I force myself to convince myself that I can follow through this time.

Because Kjata knows how much of a mistake it would be if I didn't.


	36. Sacrifice

**Sacrifice**

* * *

"_Vincent?"_

"_Lucrecia… Tell me it's not true."_

"_I…"_

* * *

His eyes run over me with a desire that makes me nervous. He's undoing the buckles and running his hands under my clothes to meet skin with skin and the only way I can seem to fight it is to distract myself. Though I'm not so sure if I'm picking the right things to focus on as I keep my eyes shut and dizzily run my hands under the back of Tseng's shirt.

All the while, his hands are tangled in my hair as he grazes my neck with his mouth like he's tasting me, devouring me, and turning me into something else…

* * *

"_Face it, Valentine… I win… you lose…"_

"_This is insane, Hojo… She's your wife!"_

"_She's the mother of something I—"_

* * *

Maybe it's fitting, as hot breath smothers my higher reasoning and lips meet my own, tender and demanding at the same time, that I would think of a time…

The last time I ever needed to breathe.

A tongue that carries the remnant of a sweet taste invades my mouth and I invite it by meeting it as if the contact alone can take away what makes me separate from him, and alone. Maybe I can drown myself in it enough to take me away from the subtle taste of copper beneath it that reminds me of blood.

It was the first thing I tasted after the initial shock as the smoke rose from Hojo's gun.

Only… it wasn't as sensual.

* * *

"_What have you done to me!"_

"_Vincent…! Vincent…! Kalm down! I can fix it… No…! Please… I can fix it…"_

"_Kja…"_

* * *

I need to focus on something else though, before I wind up convincing myself that this is no different. Just like Lucrecia and Hojo, he's turning me into something I never imagined I'd become, and I push him back slightly and stare at him for a moment. His eyes are full of melancholy, dark and forlorn, but unlike Lucrecia's sad eyes, his seem to hold a deeper meaning and I wonder if it's his silence that carries it.

Unlike Lucrecia, he barely expresses what he feels. He never cries and rarely yells or shows any sign of excitement unless he's pushed too far, and I think right now, he highly suspects that I'm having difficulty. But it's not so much with him as it is with myself, and I push him back a little farther, and he tenses, and I can almost hear the shrill sound of Hojo's mocking laughter as I move Tseng onto his back and stare at him for a moment longer.

I know what he's thinking. I can see it in his eyes, and I know he's thinking that he should just stop me now and leave, and never look back.

I can't help it though. I need to do it my way, and I move his shirt to the side and press my mouth to his chest while noting how tense he is, and at the same time, I undo the buckle on his pants and move my hand through the opening while trying my best not to send any dominating signals.

I owe him that much, at least.

* * *

"_I… can't… breathe…"_

"_That's because you're dead."_

* * *

Dead… But still alive… and I suddenly wonder why I don't understand what that means as I move lower and note that Tseng may be relaxing a bit, but he's still expecting me to back out at the last second while I push his pants down enough to keep them out of the way and he lazily places his hand in my hair, lightly stroking his fingertips against my scalp as if to say that he'd like it. But he doesn't expect it to happen.

It's like then. I feel like I'm drowning and losing my identity, and I almost gag before I realize that it's not as bad as I thought it would be, and for the first time, Tseng relaxes. Then he pushes both of his hands into my hair with massaging movements as if to say that it's not as bad as he thought it would be either, and he gasps.

* * *

"_You can't go back, Valentine… this is what you are now…"_

* * *

It's the inner struggle—the battle that never ends. It usually gets the best of me, particularly when I ask…

And remember asking…

"_What's left to lose?"_

And I remember answering…

"_Everything else."_

_Myself…_

* * *

"Leviathan… Vincent…"

"Vince," I mutter after pulling away and moving back up to him to stare at him, swooning eyes that almost remind me of whirlpools at the moment. They pull me in as if there's something hypnotic hidden behind them. Hands are tangled in my hair, and I can't recall ever wanting to be this close to someone even though I thought I knew what it felt like at one time.

Then he pulls me down to seal the distance between our mouths again, satiating an insatiable hunger, and I nervously roll back, allowing him to be the master to his ever-faithful servant.

* * *

"_Vincent… I'm so sorry… I only wanted to help…"_

"_Gyah!"_

"_Hehehe… Why don't you tell him the truth, Lucrecia?"_

"_Stop it, Hojo… I never lied to him!"_

"_Really…? Hehehe… Then would I be correct in assuming that he already knows you did this to him only because you thought it would further your own career?"_

* * *

And now all the sudden, I think I realize what it is that eats away at me when Tseng takes the initiative and our bodies move against each other in a manner of foreplay. I spent years trying to sort out the difference between what I should believe about the things I didn't want to believe, and I wound up drowning myself in so much denial about everything that I think it's become more of a habit than I realized, and Tseng pushes my shirt off and I pull him back down to take my mind from the possibility.

But I still feel like I'm suffocating, and he moves his tongue inside of my mouth while I invite him to explore as much as he needs to, still afraid. I'm still afraid of losing even more of myself than I've already lost, and I can't help but try to take my mind away from the thought by focussing on the muffled voices from my past.

Voices I had almost forgotten about invade my mind, as well as conversations that never made sense when Tseng's movement and touches become more fevered and his mouth moves to the crook of my neck and I gasp while running my hands along his strong back.

It had been silent in that mansion for so long that I must have forgotten as I avoided the world and slept in that coffin that I used to be able to hear everything that went on in Hojo's lab, and that I used to do everything in my feeble power to drown it out like I'm trying to drown something else away now.

The screams… much like the silent ones that go deeper than my thoughts…

And much like the crippling silence that they were, I feel like I'm unable to say anything now as his hand moves closer to a place where I'm not entirely ready to be touched and he urges me to the edge of the bed, telling me it will be easier this way, and despite how harmless the act may be, I'm just as scared as I was the day that I awoke to see that my hands were no longer my hands and that my reflection was no longer my own, and Lucrecia was frantically trying to sedate whatever monster I'd become so that she could make it all better…

She said she could fix it.

"You need to relax, Vince…" Tseng soothingly tells me before he comments to himself that the last thing he wants is to have Chaos show up because I'm unable to relax, and I don't think he realizes how hard that innocent and badly timed comment hits me.

It hits me because it's a possibility that I never would have thought of if it wasn't for him bringing it to light.

"Kjata…" I mutter before I push him away from me like a reflex that I can't control, and I feel like recoiling when I realize that things can't go any more wrong than I already allow them to.

* * *

"_Well, Vince, if you have no desire to come out of there, then be my guest…"_

"_Leave me alone!"_

"_Very well… But I should warn you, there's no turning back… You are what you are… and if you decide to stay in there, consider yourself forgotten… Hehehe… Though, I don't mind lending you a helping hand… Hehe…"_

* * *

Brick by brick, the wall outside went up, and I can still hear the sound of the scraping mortar that sealed my miserable fate—the fate that I chose as Hojo screeched his orders with a shrill voice. It ingrained itself so deeply that I don't even recall when he took it down and decided to violate me with extractions to use in his 'further studies'.

* * *

"_You may wind up being more useful than I initially thought, Valentine…"_

* * *

Then the door would close and the sound of a key would hollowly click, and it always left me with a feeling of emptiness, much like now.

The last thing that I wanted to do was seal my fate again. But I think I might have when I stare at Tseng with a feeling so full of regret that I can't even put it into words, and he simply stands there, shirt open, pants undone, and a trickle of blood running from his lip that makes me realize I must have pushed him harder than I thought. What's worse though, is that he doesn't even look stunned, just… fed up.

"I know I shouldn't have expected anything…" he calmly says, almost like he's talking to himself while he stares into a nothingness that I can't comprehend, and he does his pants up like he's only getting dressed in the morning and I'm not even here. Then he chuckles to himself, subtly shakes his head, and tucks his shirt in, "But the thought was nice."

After that, he looks around the room while continuing to avoid me and spots a pair of shoes that he tiredly walks over to and puts on.

"What are you doing?" I ask, still sitting here with more regrets than I can count or carry while noting that whatever depression I've managed to put him into, he's completely managed to lose his stance and emanate it like it's some kind of mental ability.

"Leaving," he calmly says. Then he wipes his mouth and wipes his hands against his pants and slightly turns his head while he finishes doing his shirt up, "I don't think it makes sense to stay."

"Where will you go?"

"I suppose I'll go back to where I belong,"

"The farm?" I mutter as I sit up and lower my head.

"Mm," he responds, and he turns around to look down at me, "I think it would be best if we quit trying to kid ourselves."

"What do you mean?" I hesitantly ask, already knowing the answer and not really wanting to hear it—but needing to hear it at the same time.

"I think you know what I mean," he tells me. Then he turns around and hesitantly places his hand against the knob, "I also think it would be best if this is the last time either of us sees each other."

After that, he snickers like he's snickering at a fool, and adds, "We obviously don't know how to resist each other, regardless of how hard we try… and we… Well… I'm getting tired of this…"

"Wait," I hesitantly say, causing him to close the partially opened door and turn around to stare at me while I continue to keep my head down.

"What?"

"Give me another chance."

"Leviathan…" he breathes out. Then he shakes his head and walks up to me while slowly saying my name.

"Vincent… _Valentine_…" he says, emphasizing the last part when he reaches over to caress my jaw as if he's his old self again, "If only I never sought you out in the first place."

After that, he takes a deep breath and rustles his hand through the mess of my hair as if it's nothing personal, "Then perhaps I wouldn't hate myself as much as I do for adoring you so much."

With another deep breath, he frowns and bends over to pick up my headscarf that he pulled off when we started and he neatly places it on the night stand beside Lucrecia's necklace, "Even after all the things Sephiroth did, I never felt like the fool that you make me feel like."

"Kjata…" I breathe out while staring at the floor for fear of looking at him right now, "I never meant—"

"Don't apologize, Vincent," he warns, and he's about to walk back to the door before I grab him by the wrist and he continues talking like I'm not holding onto him, "You do it so much that you don't even understand the concept anymore."

Then he looks down at my hand around his wrist and frowns, "And saying it isn't the same as meaning it."

"I can't let you go," I mutter, realizing that I can't stand the thought of it while not even really listening to him as I try to convince myself that he's wrong.

"Yes you can," he tells me. "All you have to do is admit to yourself that it was never me that you wanted."

"Don't start that again."

"Then admit it," he says, and he pulls my attention to him by placing his fingers under my chin and tilting my head up. "When you make love to me, assuming that's what you're doing, do you ever imagine that it's with me?"

"What?"

"When was the last time that you actually touched me during the act?"

"I touch you all the time…" I mindlessly mutter. Hell, I was just touching him a few minutes ago.

"Hm… you've developed such an art, Vincent, and with the exception of tonight, you haven't had to touch me at all."

"That's a lie."

"Is it?" he asks, and he quickly pulls his hand loose before grabbing my wrist and bringing it up to his chest. "When was the last time that you touched me here while making love to me?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Here, Vincent, a simple reminder of what I'm not," he says, and he drags my closed fist across his breast before I roughly pull my hand free with some kind of inner struggle that I'm unfamiliar with. "I'm willing to go so far as to say that the main reason you refuse to give up the control is because you're afraid that Lucrecia will somehow see you from the grave… Maybe you're afraid of being judged by her in such a way."

"Kjata," I mutter, thinking of how ironic it is that a man so worried about what others think would be the one to tell me that I'm afraid of being judged, "If I make you feel that way, why did you come back?"

"Because, Vincent…" he quietly says and turns around to emptily stare at me again as that strange melancholy slips in and he emptily admits that, "You're the only one I can trust…"

Then he shakes his head and adds as if he really doesn't care about what he lets me know about his pathetic feelings anymore, "And it's been so long since anyone's made me feel attractive."

After that, he turns around and says under his breath, "Even if it was a lie."

* * *

I never thought I'd live to see the day when a modern Turk would make me feel this low as I watch him tidy himself up before he reaches for the door, and I suddenly start to worry about what's going to happen to him once he leaves.

Or maybe I'm more worried about myself since he's managed to make me more confused than I've ever been in the past, and I'm unable to know how much of what he says is fact and how much of it is personal injury, and I mindlessly blurt out, "Give me another chance," without knowing what else I can say or do to convince him of something I'm not even convinced of myself.

"Ngh…" he groans in defeat, and he rests his forehead against the door like he's being drained by some kind of unseen force, "You're insufferable…"

"No…" I desperately say, and I move more eagerly to the edge of the bed, ready to bolt and grab him if he tries to leave before hearing me out, "Tseng… Maybe if you didn't take so long to—"

"What? Are you serious?" he disbelievingly asks and turns around to look at me like I've sprung a second head.

"Do you even know what you're saying…? Do you know how much it hurts if…?" he asks, uncertain what it is that he's really trying to ask before he shakes his head and rectifies that, "No… Of course you don't… You're a babbling idiot who doesn't think before you speak."

Then he sighs as I inch more from the edge and he looks like he's recoiling inside—like he suspects something he has no control over is about to happen, and I simply brush off his insult while telling myself that he's only saying it to make me angry enough to let him go.

"Maybe if you didn't mention Chaos…"

"Mm," he considerately mutters before assuming, "or maybe you're just grasping at straws."

"Please…"

"No," he flatly says before muttering to himself that, "I can't believe I've been dumb enough to hear you out for this long," as he turns around, opens the door, and I suddenly bolt.

* * *

I never thought I was capable of such insanity, despite that it's been ongoing since I met him.

I'm not even sure how aware I was of the fact that I've been slowly slipping from everything that I thought I was or thought I had control over, and whatever it is about him, I can't let it go.

"Vince!" he shouts in surprise as his legs fly up in an attempt to run up the wall and flip himself out of my grasp, and I quickly pull back to take that leverage away from him before slamming him into the wall and pressing myself against him.

"You can't leave me!" I forcefully growl while he disbelievingly asks if I've gone insane—not that the question was ever up for debate, and I find myself confessing into his ear with warm breath from behind that, "I can't make the same mistake twice…"

Then I hope to hell that he doesn't realize I'm talking about the mistakes I made with Lucrecia before I demand that we try again, and he says something along the line of, "We can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because _you_ can't."

"Yes I can," I growl while inappropriately running my hands over him and brushing my cheek against his while he tries to squirm out of my inhuman grip when I start undoing his buttons, "I want to feel what you feel."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"Don't…! Stop it… Vince…! Stop it!" he demands before he finally breaks free from my wandering and violating hands and pushes me away while telling me that, "You can't force me to have sex with you! It doesn't work like that!"

"Yes, I can," I stupidly say and ignore the fact that it makes absolutely no sense as he hesitates for a moment and then shakes his head like he has no idea why he hasn't left yet.

"Well…" he starts, and hesitates again like he really doesn't know why he's arguing with me as he does the buttons back up on his shirt, "Then… I can't force you to follow through."

"I thought that you prided yourself in being a heartless _bastard_."

"I thought I told you not to call me that," he says before he shakes his head and inwardly struggles with himself as to the fact that I think he really thinks the best thing to do would be to leave all this madness behind.

Yet, he stays.

"It's true," I say, witlessly egging him on for reasons I'm completely unaware of, "You're a bastard."

But I guess he loses the battle because the next thing I know, he's chattering away in Wutian and angrily pushing me onto the bed.

"I must be mad," he disbelievingly admits while almost ripping the buttons on his own shirt and stating, still in Wutian, "I think I know why I can't remember anything."

"Why's that?" I breathe as he moves faster this time, and I manage to hold off my nervousness a little better this time too—though not by much.

"My better judgement has been tampered with," he says while causing me to jump unexpectedly when he smacks my hind-side before spinning me onto my back like he's telling me it's all my fault… Everything.

Other than that, though, he's considerately gentle and careful when he picks up where we left off.

* * *

Over 30 years ago, I don't think I ever would have thought about doing what I'm doing now—letting someone else do—as the initial discomfort fades while he does his best to prepare me for something I'm still not entirely sure about.

"Relax, Vince…" Sephiroth's lover commands while grazing his lips against my inner thigh and then tending to my arousal before inserting his fingers into a part of my body that I don't think was ever meant to be penetrated. My fingers dig into the sheet beneath me so hard that it hurts. _Kjata,_ for all I know, he's inserted his whole Gaia-damned hand…

I don't even think the consideration would have crossed my mind when Cloud and his friend's unlocked my tomb and woke me up after a thirty year slumber, and if anyone ever told me that I would fall so desperately in love with a man—a lying, manipulative, and sadistic Turk no less, enough to sacrifice my own identity, I don't think I ever would have believed them.

I might have even laughed at them if I was capable of remembering how.

"Kjata…" I breathe out, panting out of habit and still gripping into the sheets that are starting to tear, and he stands, and I see a brief image of Sephiroth standing behind him as if to state his ownership or to taunt me or ruin the mood. But it's my imagination, I know that as I gasp when he does something strange with his fingers and smiles like I imagine Hades would while an unfamiliar sensation runs through my lower body that almost makes me forget about the discomfort that I may be over-dramatizing about.

Then he satisfyingly whispers to himself while the lids fall dreamily heavy on his eyes that, "That's the spot," as he turns his attention to my leg that he's pulled over his shoulder and brushes his mouth against the calf.

* * *

A part of me can't help but suspect that he's milking it for all it's worth as he says things he doesn't normally say and gets me to beg for things I wouldn't normally beg for. All the while, he does unfamiliar things that I'm not entirely sure about just yet, and I almost wonder if this was all he really wanted to do as I become uncontrollably close to feeling that sensation that I've come to relate to only something he can make me feel.

Only this time, it's a little different.

"Mm…" he mutters before he stops and causes an unexpected disappointment. Then he seriously stares at me for a moment.

"We could continue like this if you'd like…" he finally tells me, "I must admit that I'd be happy to oblige…"

Then he kisses my calf again and lightly runs his hands over my hips while I take a moment to consider the offer. But I also consider the fact that if I don't let him do it now—after he's managed to ease my vulnerable exposure this much—I may never let him, and I regretfully tell him, "No…" and he nods with his eyes closed, almost like my answer makes him as nervous as it makes me.

"You're sure?" he thoughtfully asks, with no hint towards being disappointed if I change my mind.

"Yes."

"You're going to feel uncomfortable."

"You mean pain…"

"Perhaps…" Then he pauses for a brief moment and turns serious as he tells me in a manner of instruction that, "You won't be doing either of us any favours if you don't say anything."

Then without warning me, he shows me exactly what he means by 'uncomfortable.'

"Nnnng-gyah…"

* * *

"_I just wanted to… say goodbye…"_

* * *

Whatever I was thinking… or not thinking, I'm not sure about what I think of it.

I'm not sure why somebody would choose to sacrifice themselves like this for the love of another, and I'm not sure why they would continue to do it. I'm not even sure why I'm doing it since it hurts like fucking hell.

It's just not meant to be done. There's no way anyone could ever convince me otherwise—not after I've had a taste.

And all the while, he urges me to relax. He tells me it won't hurt as much if I try to relax, and somehow, he seems to think that I need to relax. But I ignore him and I ask myself how in the hell am I supposed to relax? He hasn't even started, to my knowledge, and there's no possible way that I can simply relax.

Maybe I should be thankful though, as the initial pulsing that feels like flames devouring me from the inside eases, that he knows how to read me. And maybe for the first time, I'm relieved about it as he pretends to pay special attention to me and does something to make it not seem as bad, and I think it's strange that the movement would be enough to ease the pain.

And maybe for the first time, I understand and respect him more than I thought I ever would, now that I know…

But he tells me it's not always like this as if he's reading my mind, and he leans in a way that eases the burden even more. Then he does something that pulls my attention away from it, and I find myself suddenly wanting it.

I find myself wanting it so much that I wind up letting go faster than I intended…

And he slows down before stopping and smiles at me like he sees me differently all the sudden. Then he pulls out and crawls over me while I apologize for being so embarrassingly quick, and he simply states in a soothing way that, "It's okay…" as if he understands it more than I thought he would and he tends to himself while staying above me.

* * *

"Why didn't you finish?" I finally ask while we lay beside each other after a long silence of staring at the ceiling.

"I thought I did," he smugly answers, almost sounding like he's in a daze that he doesn't want to withdraw from yet.

"No… I mean…"

"I didn't want to hurt you," he breathes out before turning to look at me with that empty study that he's mastered so well that I don't even think he realizes he does it half the time. "You were already being more dramatic than you needed to be."

Then he quickly turns his attention back to the ceiling as if he suddenly wants to avoid something and I wonder if I'm reading too much into what he's saying as my burdening guilt begins to resurface.

"What was it like for you… When you first…?"

"It was a long time ago," he mumbles before quickly turning over to suggest that he doesn't want to discuss it any further and decides that he'd rather sleep while I consider what little he's told me about his past. Then I snuggle up to him from behind, feeling strangely empty and wondering how much more of him remains hidden beneath the surface…

* * *

Sephiroth…

It's the first dream I've had since Tseng returned. But there's something different about it.

The son of Hojo looks like he's been going through books for days as he paces through small hills of them scattered about the floor, leafing through one of them as if he's deeply concentrating before he glances at the ones he placed on the heavy desk in the middle of the room. I recognize some of them. They're notes and books from Lucrecia and Hojo.

And he stands there, looking like he's lost in empty thoughts until a voice breaks him out of his daze and he turns to look in the direction it came from, "Do you think he'll still want you once he finds out?"

He doesn't answer the question though. Instead, his eyes grow darker and more withdrawn before he turns around to look at a withering man wearing a similar outfit, but it's a faded crimson and not as revealing as the one that Sephiroth wears.

"Hm…" the other man mutters. He's a Soldier like Sephiroth, I assume, and he sleekly walks around Sephiroth as if he's circling him. Then he brushes his hand through his greying hair and smirks before gracefully shaking loose his own hairs from his fingers as if to emphasize the fact that it's falling out.

"How far does the apple fall from the tree?" he melodically asks, almost like he's toying with Sephiroth before stopping and coyly holding up what looks like a rotting apple. "If only I'd known before I tainted it more…"

Still no words from the silver-haired Soldier though, and he watches the man's every step and action with an empty expression before suddenly lunging at him to clash swords with near-identical length.

There was no warning though.

"So… you _are_ capable of caring for another," the man in fading crimson mockingly surmises while bitterly smiling at his opponent through the cross of swords between them. "Too bad he may not care as much for you if he ever finds out what you've done to him."

At that, Sephiroth eases the pressure of his sword against the other man's defensive hold and steps back while staring at something that the man in faded crimson is holding. There is no expression in his eyes and no expression in his features as he watches the other man flick the papers at him in the same manner that cards would be dealt while he points out that he got them from, "Hojo's secret stash."

All Sephiroth does is watch the papers flutter to the floor with no desire to deal with whatever it is as he emptily stares at the one that landed face-up. It's a scratched and faded picture of Tseng, and the man in faded crimson starts to gracefully walk away, looking satisfied about something while telling Sephiroth, "There's more where that came from."

Then he mildly chuckles while the Silver-haired Soldier continues to emptily stand there, head tilted, dispirited eyes locked on the image while the man of fading colours casually muses as he continues to walk out and his voice grows more distant, "I suppose he has you to thank for surviving that mako incident… and for his resilience… but… I wonder… at what cost…?"


	37. Demented, As It May Seem…

**Demented, As It May Seem…**

* * *

For the rest of the night, I feel like I'm trapped in fragmented dreams, neither sleeping nor fully awake. Nothing seems clear except for flashing images that I can't seem to recall the moment they've passed, despite that it feels like they have some kind of meaning or clarity, and every now and then, Tseng mumbles something in his sleep.

It's almost like he's trapped in restless dreams as well. Only unlike me, he never wakes, and I watch over him with concern as he contorts his face as if he's grimacing from time to time before I fall back into a restless sleep that is continuously interrupted.

Every now and then, I see the snow as it is in my other dreams, and I see Tseng, and every now and then, I see a flash of a figure that I can't make out standing over his lifeless body outside of the Temple of the Ancients. It almost seems clear to me though, familiar somehow, as a white light encompasses the figure before it turns to fire a shot at something behind it as if it's on guard.

And I wonder…

I wonder as I feel the ground shake while the Temple collapses upon itself and I remember Cloud attacking Aerith shortly afterwards as if it were happening now. It was like he was possessed, and I recall him telling me at Modeoheim how Tseng mentioned something about how she reminded him of his daughter, and I wake up to watch over him again… She was an Ancient.

I have so many questions and no way of knowing how to ask as thoughts of Cloud's story plays over in my head again, almost like his words were meant to tell me something that I wasn't hearing at the time. But I have no idea what it was that I was supposed to pick up on, and I watch Tseng again, uneasily focussing on the tattoo on his forehead—nothing more than a black dot, a mark of the worshippers of the Ancients. It's what Sephiroth called him in a past dream.

Then I subtly frown at myself while coming to the realization that all I ever seem to do is question, watch, never really knowing, and always assuming.

At some point though, I must have fallen into a deeper sleep because by the time I open my eyes again, the sun is shining and Tseng is drinking his tea, picking at a breakfast of eggs and toast, and reading a newspaper that he must have gone out to fetch.

* * *

"It's about time you awoke," he mutters, half-chewing the remainder of what's in his mouth and pointing at the old clock by my bedside. All the while, he keeps his eyes glued to the paper and snorts in amusement at something he's reading and I turn to see that it's past noon.

"Why didn't you wake me?" I tiredly ask as I sit up and rub at my eyes before swinging my legs over the edge so I can stare at the floor as if I'm in a daze.

As a response, he indifferently shrugs and grabs a napkin to wipe his hands off before turning the page and continuing to read. Then after a long pause and a short snicker over the article he's reading, he detachedly comments that, "I had some things I wanted to do, and after last night… Well, I felt you probably wouldn't appreciate it if I woke you up."

Then he stands, stretches his legs, and refills his tea.

"What kind of things?"

"Research," he mutters before he sits back down and continues to slowly eat his breakfast as if he's preoccupied with something else.

"Research on what?"

"Nothing important," he answers, and I frown at his unending secrecy before I gasp and grab at my head as a strange figure in the white light flashes through my head again.

But he doesn't seem to notice and I find myself looking around in a daze while feeling like I'm not really here as he turns the page again, spoons some more egg onto his toast and takes another bite before telling me to get dressed if I want to get going.

"What?"

"Well, at the rate you're going, I doubt we'll be able to leave today if you don't pick yourself up," he says, almost sounding garbled as he puts some more egg onto his toast and reaches for the salt. Then he sighs and mutters that he expected no less from me anyway, and I knit my brows while looking down at the blanket tangled around my leg before wondering what in the hell he's talking about.

"Where are we going?"

"To the Northern Continent," he says, almost like he's annoyed with me and feels that I should have already known. After that, he sighs and shakes his head while I feel a strange panic that starts to expand from my gut when he adds, "It was your idea."

Then he wipes his hands on a napkin, gets up, and goes to the bathroom while I sit there and wonder how in the hell he could have concluded that it was my idea.

* * *

The answers to my questions only create more questions though, and with each question, I receive only more questionable answers, and my head is starting to hurt as I avoid Tseng's eyes after he comes back out. They watch over me in disdain while he sits on the chair by the table. He's in the shadows complimented by the darkness as it makes him appear more looming while he addresses me.

His left forearm rests over the table while his wrist relaxes, allowing his hand to drape over the edge in a careless manner. His hair is slightly damp at the ends from the shower he took earlier and his frustration strikes me as authentic, even though I have a difficult time believing that it is. All the while, I remain on the edge of the bed, almost blinded by visions of obscure images that mingle with a reality I begin to question by the second, and I hold my head in my hands, supported by my elbows on my knees, and I deny everything he's told me since he came back into the room.

_That's not what happened…_ I tell myself, over and over while questioning why I wouldn't recall such a thing. I never told him that I knew where he was cured from death. I never told him where I thought the facility was, and he grows angrier with me as I deny that I ever said what he tells me I said, and I grow frustrated and tired of whatever game we've been playing.

"For Leviathan's sake, Vincent!" he finally spits out. Then he roughly pushes his chair back and grumbles in Wutian as he stands, sounding unnatural somehow. Then he towers over me with eyes I can feel as they pierce through me, growing darker while I refuse to look up and see if they really are as dark as the abysmal penetration I feel from them, and he accuses me of doing to him what I believe he's doing to me.

"I can't, for the life of me, figure out what the hell it is that you want from me," he tells me. "You pull me close. Then you push me away. You want to help. Then you don't want to help—You do it repetitively!"

I'm not pushing him away though. I'm simply denying that, "I never made that offer," as he tells me that he only had an hour of sleep last night while I know different, and that he's more than just tired from not getting enough sleep before he wanders off into another Wutian rant about how inventive I am when it comes to manipulating him into getting my own way.

"Since day one," he says, "you've done nothing but contradict every thing you say and do, and you've done nothing but disagree, even with the things you agree with!"

"What in the hell are you talking about?"

"Why, Vince… Why would you tell me that you want us to go to the Northern Continent so that you can help me find out what's going on and then deny everything? Why would you press so adamantly and say that you think it's somewhere near the ice-fields…? You said you were positive that you saw something when you were there with Cloud and his friends. You said that you thought it would be the best place to start, and now you deny everything! Why?"

"Because I never said that I would help you," and for a moment, he looks shocked as he stands there speechless and stares at me as if he's trying to work something out in his demented mind.

"Is this a game for you? Do you hate Shinra so much that you have to take it out on them by messing with me…? Or is this some sick kind of revenge that you're taking out on me for something I don't realize I did to you? Is that what this is? Leviathan… I have no idea why I never saw this before," he mutters before he quickly shakes his head and stares at the floor while coming to the conclusion that, "I can't keep doing this… it's like you've set out to do nothing other than jerk me around since the day you refused to get out of my life."

Then he pauses as I pause, and for the first time since he grew angry with me, we both stare at each other as if we're seeing something neither of us wants to see as the fire in his eyes suddenly drowns in a clinical curiosity and he asks, "Is it possible?"

"No," I mutter, knowing that he's wondering if Chaos possesses some level of intelligence and has mastered the art of conversation, and I can safely say, "No," again.

It's not that I feel I need to repeat myself to convince myself. It's more because I'm so convinced that I don't need to be convinced that I can say it a second time while almost wanting to laugh at the notion in disbelief.

"Hm," he mutters then, and he shakes his head while heading towards the door and I find myself bitterly musing that, "I take it you're leaving again."

But his response probably stings more than my own attempt to sting him on the issue of how he strikes me as someone that constantly tries to run away from his emotions.

"There's nothing to leave here, Vincent… whatever you are—were, if anything, obviously died a long time ago."

"Asshole."

"Hm… More of a fool," he mumbles to himself before he slicks his hair from his face and quirks his brow, "especially after thinking last night meant anything."

* * *

He doesn't leave though, oddly enough. He doesn't even move. Instead, he lets out a heavy breath and stands there like he wants to do or say something that he's not doing or saying. Or maybe he's expecting something.

"Vince…?" he says with a suddenly strange sound to his voice, "Vince… Are you all right?"

_I don't know…_

* * *

All I can focus on is another reality where a bright flash sends Tseng flying backwards into a mixture of mud and snow. It's a cold place that looks like the Modeoheim area as he awkwardly turns himself onto his belly and grimaces while pushing himself up onto his knees before wiping at his eyes with a muddied hand in a sense of urgency.

"Shinra… dog…" comes a taunting voice behind him, and he continues to wipe at his eyes as if he can't see. "Was that light too bright for you?"

"Genesis…" Tseng gasps out as if he's suddenly realizing something before he grabs his gun and blindly fires behind him.

He misses though, every shot, unable to clearly see as a man in fading red walks up to him with a sleek stroll and smiles while grabbing the Turk by the back of his collar with an inhuman force and movement. The action chokes Tseng as he's lifted from the ground and thrown in a way that twists him around before his back forcefully hits the wall of what looks like the outside of an old bath house, and Tseng painfully grunts.

"That's not very nice of you," the man in red taunts before he reaches back and rips the elastic from Tseng's hair, along with several hairs that were still attached to the Turk's head, "Especially after everything we've been through together."

Then the man leans closer and digs his gloved fingers into Tseng's jaw while forcefully turning his head so that he can whisper something into the Turk's ear that causes Tseng to gain a second wind and he violently pushes the other man away.

"Don't you ever wonder?" the man in red tauntingly asks, "Sleeping with Sephiroth… Someone _like_ Sephiroth… and look at me now. A prophecy. I was just like him," he musically says. "Don't you ever wonder what the _deeper_ repercussions might be for you?"

Tseng doesn't answer him though. Like always, he never answers anyone. Instead, he only fires his gun again and gets thrown back by a well-aimed spell of Fire3. Then to continue with his stubborn streak, he shakily pulls another elastic out of his blazer's pocket and pulls his hair back while he's on his knees and grimacing as he tells the man that, "Zack and the others… will be here soon… I didn't come alone…"

"You really are a dog—always hiding behind others," the other man muses, almost like he's amused by it before he calmly turns his back to Tseng and walks into the shadows. "How sad and delusional you must be… Miserable... Tonberry…"

And suddenly he's back at the temple as if stuck in an endless loop, doomed to play it out for eternity. Sephiroth's sword pierces through Tseng's abdomen from the back. Tseng stands still, in shock from not seeing it coming let alone realizing what just happened, and Sephiroth leans into his past lover from behind and whispers into his ear, "Forgive me."

Then he pulls the blade out, suddenly someone entirely different than he was a moment ago, and he coldly watches his lover's knees buckle as the man keeps his hand over his gut as if he can keep his wound protected from bleeding out.

"Don't fight it," he soothingly says, whispering it into Tseng's ear as he grips his gloved fist into the back of the Turk's hair, causing him to wince. It's a smooth purr that almost sounds sadistic as he affectionately rubs his cheek against Tseng's and lets go to gently stroke the man's hair, ignoring the trickle of blood that the Turk uncontrollably coughs up as he's coaxed to resting his head on the Soldier's shoulder. Then he slips Tseng's locket into the Turk's pocket as if he'd been holding onto it for him, or found it, and he lightly kisses Tseng's ear with a disturbingly cold look in his eyes. "Consider it a parting gift."

* * *

"Tseng?" I call out, a strange weakness to my voice as I blindly reach out and recoil from the snow that lands on my gloved hands, a warm gun still smokes as I quickly sheath it, noting the dancing red glow on the thick carpet of dull white from my cloak as it blows furiously in the wind.

"Tseng!"

It's as if I'm alone with nothing but the witch's song on the winds, sounding almost mournful and close, yet distant and surreal.

"Tseng!"

My legs ache as I try to follow what could be a trail and I note that it's not night. Nor is it light out. The sky is grey and heavy with clouds that travel from the force of the winds. It makes everything else grey, dire, heavy.

In the back of my mind floats a name, one that only comes to me when I don't focus on it, one that holds the answer to what's happening, and I grit my teeth, angered that it won't come clear enough for me to hear or say it.

Instead, I only see white, bright, glowing… white, yet dull and blue glacier that's so far away that it almost seems grey, looming, bluish-grey, watching, and I ironically think…

_Steel… _and I think that it means something.

But I don't know what.

* * *

"_Chaos…!"_ I hear Tseng choke out, and I can't help but notice another figure I've never noticed in the dreams before and I stop in my tracks to try to clearly make him out.

_"Chaos… let… go…"_

He's wearing red, unaffected by the wind and perfectly still. Hair, clothes, all perfectly still as the snow viciously blows around him, past him. He's smirking, it seems, almost smug as he watches me, focussing on me like he's amused by something.

_"Chaos… you're…"_

"You're going to have to let go," the man in red musically says, whimsical, hypnotic, "And turn a blind eye."

Then he smiles and lowers his head so he can look at me like he knows a secret he's not sharing and quizzically asks, "Surely, you don't want to be alone forever… Do you, Valentine?"

"Wha—?"

* * *

"Cho-king… Chaos…" Tseng gasps, clearer this time when I suddenly snap back to the present and realize that I've got him pinned against the door as he struggles to loosen my grip around his throat, struggling for air.

"Kjata…"

Despite the level of repulsion I feel toward myself right now, and I feel sick to my stomach over that fact that I think I may have attacked Tseng, I grip my fingers harder into his neck and then throw him against the kitchen cupboards. He hits them hard, crashing and grunting as one of the cupboard doors breaks off its hinges from the impact, and he quickly reaches for his gun the moment his head clears enough to realize he's been released.

All the while, he chokes violently and holds his neck with his other hand as he fumbles to his feet and staggers forward, gun shaking in his hand as he tries to regain himself and steal his breath back.

"It was _you_…" He manages, and he starts coughing uncontrollably as he staggers toward the middle of the room and I stand there, dumfounded and not knowing what's going on, let alone what he's talking about.

"I kept telling myself that it wasn't," He says, regaining himself by the second, "I kept telling myself that you couldn't have—Stay Back!"

He stops for a moment, aiming his gun more frantically at me, eyes wide as if he's completely forgotten that it's against his policy to show fear as I take a step forward in an attempt to apologize, or at the very least, try to calm him down enough to try to make things right although it might be too late for that now.

"You're the one that shot me!" he suddenly yells, and he fires a shot in self-defence as I quickly move on instinct, fast enough to grab his wrist so that the shot hits the ceiling and causes dust and debris to fall on the back of my shoulders. It's almost elegant the way the dust settles, unnaturally slow as if animated, and he attempts to struggle away as I hold him still and see flashes of what just happened as if I'm being shown.

He asked me if I was all right, and when I didn't answer, he sighed, and said, "Never mind… Obviously your personal little world is more important to you," and he grabbed his coat, slipped on his shoes, and was about to walk out before I lunged and attacked him.

Only it wasn't me. It was Chaos. It spawned for no other reason than to stop him for whatever reason it might have had, and when Tseng fought back, Chaos did everything that it could in its primitive reasoning to subdue him. Why though, I don't know. Ever since I've been bonded with this demon, it's never spawned for any other reason than to protect its host, itself, for nothing more than self-preservation and suddenly I'm wondering why it would have spawned to stop a mere Turk from walking out on me.

He's more to me than a mere Turk though, and he's more to me than just another person, more than just a friend that drives my mind into oblivion. He's someone that I'd go the extra mile for. I'd give my own life for him and I'm realizing it more intensely at this moment than I have in the past, although I've wrestled him to the floor in as violent a manner as I think is possible after I send his gun skidding across the floor under the bed and away from us both after smashing his wrist into the floor to make him let go of it.

"I never meant to hurt you!" I tell him, behaving and sounding almost as frantic and panicked as him. Only I'm guessing that I'm not the only one reflecting on the fact that his lover before me tried to kill him as well, and I'm guessing that the chances of him believing me at this irrational moment are beyond slim.

Maybe that's why I'm panicking as he continues to try to fight against my inhuman strength in an attempt to get as far away from me as possible.

"You had no intention of telling me," he grunts out. "Why?" he asks, before almost sounding defeated. "Of all the people, I thought you were different—I thought I could trust you."

And there it is again, that trust issue of his. He's brought it up before. It flattered me and now I'm suddenly wondering why I would be the only one he could trust when he has his Turks, Rufus, Elena, and his precious little Reno. Of all the people, I should have been the one he trusted the least. I shouldn't have been the one he came to back in Kalm as if he was looking for someone, something. Nor should I have been the one he chose to come to after he disappeared, almost acting like he was hiding from something unknown.

"Leviathan…" he breathes out, struggling as if he hurts. Then he starts to laugh as if he's laughing at himself. "Sephiroth was right."

"Right about what?" I chillingly ask, gripping into his wrists even more and positioning myself so that he can't take any of the cheap shots I've become familiar with from him before we both stop as if we're stunned when a weak knock on the door breaks us away from the present matter and meekly asks in a timid female voice, "M-Mr. Valentine…? Is everything all right?"

"Kjata," I mutter, still pinning the Turk below me and quickly adjusting his wrists so I can hold them both with one hand before I cover his mouth in an attempt to stop him from calling out for help. I know I'm not making matters any better, but—"Yes?" I call out as calmly as I can while Tseng's muffled attempt to prove that I'm lying goes unheard.

"There were some complaints about some noise…" she hesitantly adds, "Someone said they thought they heard gunfire."

"They did," I answer, calmly again as I remember a vial of dream powder that I keep in the nightstand near our heads and quickly pull it out, smash the opening on the edge and dump it onto Tseng's face before he has a chance to retaliate to the instant effect it has on him.

_Strange, _I think, it doesn't normally work that quickly.

I'd say I was sorry but I doubt it would make any difference now that he's out cold. Though I mutter it under my breath anyway. Then I quickly throw some clothes on, uncaring how out of place I look with his pants, a bare chest and a strewn shirt that I yank out of a drawer of the dresser I never use as I walk by it to open the door enough to show her absolutely nothing.

"I…"

* * *

All I can think is that I don't think she believed me when I told her my gun went off when I was cleaning it. I assured her I'd pay for the damages and she nodded, but she had that look in her light brown eyes that suggested she may have heard more than just a gun, like Tseng yelling at me, maybe. Yet she said nothing as she warily looked at me through sandy-coloured strands of straight hair that fell loose from the maiden's bun. It was pulled back loosely, and she bit on her bottom lip, looked down, and apologized for disturbing me.

* * *

Three hours later, Tseng is tied to my bed and I'm wondering why I'm doing what I'm doing as I grow too eager to continue waiting for him to wake up and I throw a glass of dirty water into his face to speed up the process. For some reason, I'm unable to control the animalistic urges that course through my veins as I pace back and forth at the foot of the bed, constantly looking at the window's thick covering, past the small opening that reminds me of a tear that reveals another world from my own—the outside world, reality.

I don't know what I'm looking for though, and Tseng chokes on the water he must have inhaled when I threw it into his face and he struggles to get up before realizing that he's bound by a phone cord around his wrists, a tie around his ankles, and a pair of old socks that bind them both together in the fashion of a hog-tying.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" he finally asks, sounding as if he hasn't entirely cleared his throat while I continue to focus on the tear through the curtains as if I'm ready to defend against a predator.

* * *

"_Don't worry, Shinra dog, I'll protect you from him… just like a dog needs 'protecting'…"_

* * *

It's the same man that was talking to Sephiroth in my dream.

He holds Tseng up by the scruff of his neck, choking him before everything suddenly changes and the same man is standing outside, lifelessly watching the Temple of the Ancients crumble to the ground. But he's not suffering from any signs of degeneration like before and the colours of crimson on his clothes and the copper highlights in his hair stand out as if to emanate a vibrant hatred, or an insatiable hunger.

His hair is dark auburn, too red to be brown and too brown to be red. It's medium in length and the ends look like they were cut with a razor. His eyes are the same as Sephiroth's—the same colour. His clothes are similar too. Though unlike Sephiroth, he's fully clothed, honouring the standard style of the soldier's uniform underneath his crimson overcoat that is also similar to Sephiroth's. Though it's clad with black armour instead of the plain colour of steal.

What sets him apart from Sephiroth the most though, is the passion in his eyes. There's a sharp mind behind them, one that's in control, and there's an intense hatred for something particular. Unlike Sephiroth's cold and unfeeling eyes, this man reflects something personal, something intense and focussed.

At some point, he quickly turns his head to watch something else and he coyly smiles as if he was waiting for it, expecting it.

Sephiroth doesn't seem to notice him as he drags his lover from the temple and attempts to ensure the Turk is dead though, and the other man simply watches, still smiling as if watching is enough to satisfy him. It's almost as if it fills him with something more than satisfaction as his eyes narrow and his lips curl more coyly, and he quietly says to himself that, "Trying to protect him? Surely, it must be strong."

Soon after that, as debris from the Temple ruins lingers heavy in the air, another figure appears. It almost runs as if it's concerned about the Turk as helicopters violently sway the treetops overhead. I can't make the figure out though, despite the twinge in my heart at the familiarity of the way that its coat blows, and I grow more frustrated over the fact that I can't even tell if it's male or female. There's too much light coming from it. But the man in crimson seems to have been expecting the other person and he quickly smirks, straightens up more than he was, and walks up to the figure from behind to make his presence known while calmly stating that, "I can help you…"

Almost before he finishes speaking, the other figure quickly turns around and fires something at him, and the man in Crimson quickly blocks it with his sword, almost as long as Sephiroth's but broader and more decorative, tinted with crimson accents, and he coyly smiles again before splitting into two separate beings.

One looks at me as if it knows I'm watching through the curtains and causing an eerie chill to run along my spine. It's stronger than Sephiroth's presence in the other dreams. The other half looks at the other figure and they tauntingly say the same thing to both me and the other, "For a price… of course…"

* * *

"What?"

"I said, 'What the hell is the matter with you?'" Tseng answers, trying hard to remain calm as he talks through his teeth, almost grinding them as he does it and completely unaware that I wasn't talking to him.

"First, you act like a stalker," he says. "That's right, Vince—a _stalker_," he emphasizes, attempting to walk through the steps of his annoying logic. "Then, you act like you might… _feel_ something," and he takes a short moment to softly laugh after that before concluding that, "You didn't stop there though, did you…? I should have seen the signs."

"That I've completely lost my mind?" I mechanically assume, figuring that it's the most logical conclusion either of us could come to.

"No," Tseng mutters, and shows that he's flexible enough to pull his wrists far enough towards his mouth to try to chew his way out of the dirty socks and cords that are binding him.

"I'm afraid it's worse than that… Every time you acted irrational or violent over your feelings, or the threat of me leaving… all I could think about was Sephiroth. You fly off the handle like he did when something threatened his security," he confides. "Though, he did it far more gracefully than you, and I didn't want to admit that I was living it all over again."

"Living what?"

"What happened to him," he says, and manages to loosen the knot on the socks enough to start pulling it loose before he detachedly says as if it's a fact, "It's happening to you, and I'm afraid that… my role in this sick experiment is endless."

* * *

_Like hell_, I think to myself.

If he's insinuating what I think he's insinuating, he's wrong—dead wrong—and out of nothing more than sheer anger and lack of control over the fear of the possible reality in regards to what he just said—that I'm losing myself to Chaos—I pounce onto the bed and find my hands around his throat again, and Tseng hysterically laughs at me over something that frustrates me even more.

"Stop it!" I growl before backhanding him and causing him to laugh even harder at me. "I said, 'STOP IT!'"

But he doesn't, and I'm left with no other option than to get away from him, grab his gun that he tried to use to protect himself from me, and I fatally fire at him.

It was the only way to stop him, I tell myself, to stop the madness as his body disintegrates to dust and leaves no trace that he was ever there.

Silver strings in the form of spires travel upward from where he was, iridescent and accompanied by dust, glittering. My knees give way and clash with the floor as I watch the endless dance, upward, hypnotized by its likeness of cooling snow and welcoming the deadening silence that it awakens in me.

And for some reason, I start laughing at it.

I haven't laughed ever since the days when life ran through my veins and suddenly, I can't stop myself. It started with nothing more than a snort, then a small giggle, and the fact that it sounded so foreign to me, it made me laugh more, and the fact that I gave myself to him or imagined the whole damned thing made me laugh even harder.

It had been so long. I'd forgotten what I sounded like; what it felt like. I was laughing so hard that I didn't even hear the door open, or the sound of keys clanging together as they were pocketed until it was too late.

And the laughter stops as I set my hateful and suspicious eyes on the figure at the door. He has a bag of groceries in his arms and I quickly aim the gun at him, his gun that is suddenly my own gun. It's as if he's a threat to everything that represents humanity, or maybe just my own sanity.

He doesn't view me as a threat though.

Instead, he only looks at me like he's not amused in the least before he takes note of the damage to the bed and the ceiling from the gunfire. Then he quickly assesses the rest of the room, the messed bed that portrays a struggle, the broken vial that portrays desperation, and the broken cupboard that portrays domination before he regards me with parental scorn.

"Leviathan, Vincent… What the hell have you been doing?"

"Vince," I correct, not even sure if there's anything left to surprise me anymore while I squint from the bright morning sun that shines through the curtain as it's blown by the wind from outside, and Tseng goes on to close it as if he's annoyed at the fact that I've apparently opened it wide while an approaching storm looms over the horizon.

"I… shot you…"

"What?"

"I shot you… I'm the one…" I repeat, feeling like I'll explode if I don't confess to my guilt, "I'm the one that did it…"


	38. Something He Chose Not to Tell Me

**Something He Chose Not to Tell Me**

* * *

"I don't understand what you're talking about," Tseng says as he turns around and looks down at me. He completely ignores the gun I'm still aiming at him and he genuinely looks confused for a moment.

Then a light goes off behind his dark eyes and he straightens up, stiffening at the base of the spine as he defensively concludes, "Is that why you insisted we continue last night? So that it would be easier for you to tell me something like this in the morning?"

"What?" I ask, taken off guard by his response while he shakes his head at me and I utter, "No," in astonishment.

"Good, you had me concerned about it for a moment."

Then he sighs, looks into the bag he's carrying, and walks passed me to put the groceries on the counter.

"You don't sound surprised," I conclude, and I lower my head as if I'm disappointed in the fact that he's not upset as he snickers with his back to me.

"Vince…"

"Vincent."

"I'm too hungry to process it right now," is all he tells me. Then he kneels in front of the broken cabinet door to study it and continues as if he really doesn't care about the issue in the least, "Besides, I'm afraid I don't believe you."

"Don't believe me…?" I repeat, still feeling like something is not quite right with the situation, despite that nothing seems out of place as Tseng turns around and looks at me while I lower the gun. Yet I can't help but notice that he takes on a subtle caution as he speaks and makes no attempt to move from the spot.

"I believe that maybe you believe what you're saying, like your other… visions that you think you have," he solemnly clarifies with a slight roll to his eyes as if he genuinely thinks I'm making it all up, "I just don't believe that what happened is what you believe really happened."

"You're serious?" I disbelievingly conclude.

"Yes," he calmly says before he rests back on his heals and lightly runs his forefinger along a black smudge on the cupboard. "Your gun is old and custom. Fifty calibre bullets are rare in handguns. They always have been. They're more commonly used in rifles and due to their size, I'm sure they'd leave a larger mark behind. Unless whoever healed me was a miracle worker, there's simply no way that it could have been you that shot me."

"What are you saying?" I ask, suddenly more dumbfounded than I thought was possible at this point.

"My scar, Vince, it's not from your gun," he says before he struggles with the broken drawer above him and pulls out a butter knife to scrape at something he sees on the cupboard. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was a nine millimetre, the same standard issue that we use."

Then he sighs and leans back on his heals again, pauses, and then he curiously asks in a genuine tone, "Why would you think that you shot me?"

"I…" _don't know…?_

"Leviathan…" he mutters and stands to stretch his legs out. Then he puts his head down in a solemn manner before he shakes it and walks over to the table without regarding me, "I really hope you're not implying that you might have fired at me out of some harebrained reaction that you're becoming renowned for."

"Reno…" I start, and feel like recoiling inward at the admittance.

"For the love of all that is sacred, Vince," Tseng says, irritation high on his voice as he stands so he can look down at me, "How many times do you want me to say that you have nothing to worry about with Reno?"

"If I have nothing to worry about, why are you hiding from him?"

"I'm not hiding from him, Vince, and that retort had absolutely no relevance."

"You said you couldn't trust any of them," I push, not really caring about whether I stick to any particular topic or not. After this morning, dignity is less of a concern than it was before I met Tseng.

"I can't and I can," he admits. "There are some things I simply can't share with them but that doesn't make them untrustworthy… it just makes you, despite your scattered and senseless sense of reality, someone that I feel I can relate to."

"Relate?"

"I mean… 'talk'," he frustratingly corrects and grimaces in a subtle way while his hand twitches as if he wants to grab at whatever pain he feels but doesn't want to let on that he feels it. "Can we not do this right now?"

"Do what?"

"Argue over nothing," he says. "I'd like to think things went well last night, and I would like to sit down and have a pleasant breakfast as a compliment this morning, although I think you're about to ruin it by trying to tell me that you think you might have tried to kill me because of Reno."

He sighs then and grabs at the edge of the bag to look at what's inside again while I study him. He still looks tired and worn, but much better than he did when he first arrived as he drags a chair to position it under the damage in the ceiling and climbs onto it to study the hole that he did or didn't cause.

He also looks unsure, and I can't help but wonder what he's thinking due to the regretful sounding tone in his last sentence, although I feel better about finally telling him the truth. Or at the very least, I think I'm telling him what I thought was the truth even if I'm not sure what the truth is anymore.

"Actually…" I hesitantly start, not really wanting to say it but needing to. "It was Reno I was trying to—"

I would have finished, but he holds his hand up to silence me after he pulls the bullet from where it was lodged and studies it. Then he heavily sighs and closes his eyes as if he's attempting to stop himself from rolling them back in distaste, and I'm more than sure that he has an accurate guess how the sentence would have ended anyway.

"I adore you, Vince," he reluctantly says, opening his eyes and looking down at me, "And I know that you must feel something for me to go to the lengths that you went to last night, despite how frightened you were over the mere thought of it, but sometimes…" he pauses, and lets out another heavy sigh before hiding another wince at another ache as he climbs from the chair, tosses the bullet in his hand so he can catch it, looks at it in study, and says under his breath, "I'm not so sure that being together is healthy for either of us."

"Last night…" I repeat, reflecting on whatever kind of episode it was that I had before he walked through the door and returned a glimpse of hope that maybe I'm just fine, and I look up at him, still on the floor, and I ask, "What happened last night?"

Somehow, the question darkens his mood, and for a moment, I wonder why. That is until he clarifies his reason for suddenly being on guard, "You don't remember?"

Then he lightly brushes his ring-finger over the healing cut on his lip where I kicked him when I panicked and he quickly shakes his head as if he suddenly doesn't want to deal with me as a darkening melancholy slips in and he appears to grow slightly smaller and disappointed.

But I do remember.

At least, I remember what I think might have been what really happened, and I clarify it as the words spill from my mouth in as quick and consoling a manner as I can come up with. Thankfully, it lifts his mood somewhat and quietly confirms that I haven't gone completely insane yet, and he nods to confirm it even more before he pushes the chair back to the table and sits so he can look down at me for a moment.

Then he looks at the bed again, and the ceiling, and back at the cupboard where he stares at the black smudge as if it's familiar to him. After that, he sighs and sits forward and concludes that, "I'm going to assume that you have more to tell me than a confession."

He says it as he quickly waves his hand from the bed to the ceiling and adds, "There are signs of a struggle here… But there's no sign of anyone else actually being here."

He pauses and takes a deep breath while holding my gaze as if it's hypnotic and comments that, "Those marks on the cupboard are from Chaos, and the bullet in the ceiling is yours," and he tosses it at me so I can see it for myself. "And I'm willing to bet that if I look under the bed, I'll find another one that belongs to you."

"About that…" I mutter, almost too low for him to hear as I hold the shell in my hand and stare at it. The way I recall, it came from Tseng's gun, but his gun uses clips. It's unable to handle the larger bullets that fit easily into my revolver, and I suddenly wonder why I would have imagined someone else firing it.

The bed… the ceiling… and the marks on the cupboard… He says they're from Chaos—not him. It would suggest that I was thrown into them as Chaos, somehow… if Tseng's conclusions are accurate.

"Kjata…"

I almost wish I could cry at this point. I've never in my entire life felt so confused.

"I think I'm losing my mind…" I confess, and I slump down as if I have no energy left to fight whatever I feel I should be fighting against.

"No… Vince…" Tseng empathetically says as he sits forward and I cringe at the fact that I fear he's going to say it. He's going to say that I'm not crazy—I'm only losing the battle. "You're not crazy."

He lets out a heavy sigh then and quickly comes to me to help me from the floor to the bed where he sits beside me.

"Confused, maybe," he admits. "But you're far from crazy."

He frowns a little and then leans on me to show a rare affection and holds onto my hand. "In fact, I can't help but feel that I'm partially responsible… Perhaps you weren't ready for the sensory overload I fear I may have presented you with."

"What are you talking about?"

"I thought that you were lonely," he quietly says. "Perhaps as lonely as me, and when you wouldn't go away, I thought that you needed something and I tried to deliver, but what you needed kept growing more out of control. I wasn't prepared for it, and I'm afraid that perhaps you weren't prepared for it either. I presented you with too much that you don't know what to do with it.

"You've been alone and deprived for more years than I can fathom—decades—and sometimes, I ask myself if I did something wrong by thinking I was helping you. Something that I take for granted, like a cake or even a comfortable bed, might actually be too overwhelming to you," he says, and then he grimaces hard enough that he almost hurts my hand.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he indifferently says and decides that the other topic is more interesting.

"Perhaps you're simply not done processing the information, and perhaps I shouldn't have pushed you into a situation you weren't emotionally ready for last night. But by the Ancients," he breathes out and turns his head so his breath is warm on my neck and tickling it, and he wryly grins before barely whispering into my ear that, "I just can't resist wanting to do unspeakable things with you."

And like a coin, he straightens up and acts like he never said anything so wantonly, pats my hand, and goes to his grocery bag so he can start putting his food away while I find I still need clarification. But I find a better and less insulting way to ask it this time.

"What is the last thing you remember before falling asleep last night?"

The question almost makes him smile as he half turns his head toward me and looks down.

"The last thing?"

"Yes."

"I fear I may have given you the cold shoulder by not answering your question."

Then he stiffens as if he wants to avoid the topic like he avoided it the night before, and although I feel relieved over the fact that what he recalls is what I think really happened, I find myself wondering again. I wonder even more when it appears that he didn't only avoid the question last night, but he appears to be avoiding it again.

But there's one more question that will solidify what I think is real and it may be to simply add salt to a possible wound.

"I only wanted to know if it hurt."

"I don't like discussing sexual encounters I've had with other people, especially with present mates," Tseng says, almost sounding slightly cold over the notion. "It generally leads to no good. But if all you want is an answer without details," he says, and he takes a moment to curse in Wutian as he drops the carton of eggs on the floor when he grimaces again, "I can safely tell you, 'Yes'."

He forces a smile at me, quickly, and grabs the cloth from the sink to clean up his mess.

"It was the single-most painful experience in my young life."

Then he pauses after he kneels on the floor and stares at the foot of the bed and slowly adds, "Of course… it might have been… because… he didn't know what he was doing…"

"What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," he assures and starts to clean the eggs after quickly glancing at the surface of the bed and the ceiling and commenting that, "you still haven't told me what happened here."

"You don't want to hear it," I quietly mumble, almost sounding bitter over the fact that he'll resort to his typical name-calling the moment I mention Sephiroth's name.

Sometimes I wonder if it's not because he thinks I'm making it up, but more because he might fear that I'm not making it up.

On the other hand, it's not exactly healthy for me to keep bottling everything up and it could possibly have something to do with the fact that I'm losing myself, and if he really wants to know exactly how far beyond the reaches of reality I've managed to go…

Well, he probably has a right to know that being around me could possibly endanger his life…

* * *

Like he always does, he listens intently and I keep preparing myself for his onslaught of how delusional he thinks I am, and inventive. All the while, he becomes clumsier with his attempt to make himself a breakfast and he unexpectedly pauses at certain parts of the story. Stopping everything he's doing entirely as if he's contemplating something that's made him grow slightly paler, and when I'm done telling him, he claims that he's no longer hungry and tosses his food into the trash under the sink.

Then he turns around, stares at the window where the bright light from the sun has been replaced by the approaching grey skies and the sound of threatening wind, and he stares at it like I might have been staring at it during my moment of psychosis.

"What's the matter?" I ask, growing uneasy over the fact that he's not moving, attacking, verbally abusing, or doing anything at all.

He almost looks like he's dead and not even breathing as his monochrome appearance continues to quietly stand there like an animal caught in someone's headlights. He's simply staring at the window, unwavering with unmoving eyes—so black that they blend with the growing darkness by the waning light from outside.

"You…" he hypnotically starts as the first rumble of thunder disrupts the air, low, still, and distant, "Why did you open the window?"

"What?" I ask, concerned that it's the only thing he seems concerned about.

"The window," he says again. "When I came home it was wide open and you… were having your... episode, from the sounds of things."

"Episode?" I repeat, wondering why it doesn't sound insulting this time and he slowly nods while looking like he's gone even paler than he was, a trick of the low light, I believe. But effective just the same.

"Yes. You were fighting with something, but there's no trace of it," he quietly says, still sounding like he's under some kind of spell as his hand lightly taps on the broken cupboard. "Something threw you… Chaos couldn't have thrown itself—not that hard, and something summoned… Leviathan…" he breathes out and snaps out of whatever daze he was in.

After that, he sets his focus on the dream powder spilled all over the floor and mutters, "Dreams," under his breath. "Why didn't I see it before…?"

He almost falls to the floor as the first flash of lightning strikes. He's in such a hurry to do whatever it is he's decided to do and he starts running his hands over the cracks in the floorboards in a blinded fashion.

"I never told you anything about Genesis," he says, sounding like he's accusing me of something.

"What's that?"

"Genesis," he repeats. "Not what, but who… That's the man in your dreams, and it was probably always him—we thought he was dead. Zack was supposed to have killed him but it was later believed that he only thought he did… Didn't Cloud mention any of this during all the time you spent together?"

"Cloud?"

"He was there," Tseng says. "I felt sorry for them and pretended that I didn't know that Cissnei was lying to me, and I decided against my orders to let them go. A part of me wanted to see Zack and Aerith get together, and Cloud was just a kid—silly notion, I know. What was done to them shouldn't have been done, Vince. Only…" he starts, sounding almost sad and desperate at the same time as he runs from topic to topic in a way I'd never expected from him. "One good deed doesn't go unpunished, and the amount of dirt I have attached to my pay stubs wasn't going to wash away any time soon."

"Sephiroth…" he breaks off and starts pulling the drawers out of the dresser, frantically digging through them. "Leviathan, I loved him, Vince—I did. But I could never let myself tell him—I could never admit to such a weakness. It was partially my fault, if not all, that he left me."

"Left you?" I ask, unable to hide the surprise in my voice as Tseng remains on his knees in the mess of clothes he just made while he continues to look around at whatever else he can take apart while I offer to help him find what he's looking for if only he'll tell me.

He shakes his head though, not willing to say it, and I conclude that it might have something to do with the fact that he might not want to tell me something without knowing for sure. It's just a feeling I'm getting from him right now as he heads over to the drawers in the kitchen and pulls them out, dumping them while the remnants of thunder and lightening linger in the air.

"I thought it was what I wanted," he says. "So he obliged… he left me and decided to sow his wild oats."

For a short pause of a sarcastic snicker, Tseng reflects on it with a hint of disgust before he starts to pull everything out of the cupboards and inspects everything that might hold something. "He did it with about as many people as he could, more than he needed to, and I admit it affected me.

"When we got back together, he confessed that he did it on purpose," he laughs out. "He said that he did it to hurt me—to show me what it felt like."

"You said he was the first one to cheat," I conclude, assuming that's where he's going with the story while he subtly nods and pauses to look around.

"I may have told a white lie."

"Kjata."

"I hid the truth because I didn't want to admit it. It was easier to let him believe it was something else," he casually says and continues to scan the room as if he's tired himself out. "But technically, Genesis… well, it wasn't an affair."

"How can you live with yourself?"

"About as easily as you can live with yourself," he bitterly answers as he crawls over to the bed and tells me to get up, and when I don't move as fast as he'd like me to, he pushes me off the bed in such an urgent manner that I can't help but feel like he seemed a little stronger than I was expecting.

"Besides," he breathes out as he heaves the heavy old mattress from the spring supports and smugly mutters as he stares at a small red orb that's glowing as if it's what he was looking for.

"It's the lies that attract you to me, Vince," he eerily says, almost like he's in a trance again as the red reflects onto his eyes as another low rumble upsets the skies and he reaches down to pick up the orb to stare at it like it's the most beautiful thing he's ever beheld. It's a summon materia.

"Without them, there'd be nothing to stimulate your inquisitive mind, and I'd be no closer to finding the truth as I might be now."

"Tseng?" I ask, somewhat wary over how calm he suddenly is that I almost want to grab the orb away from him to protect him from something unknown. But he only stands there, staring at it with that eerie lifelessness he exhibited earlier as if he's nothing more than a hollow shell, eyes growing redder and almost silvery as he continues to stare at the orb's diminishing energy before I grab it from him at the next flash of lightening.

"You mentioned that I was pushing you to go to the Northern Continent," he says. "In your dreams… You also mentioned that it was near the ice fields."

"Yes," I hesitantly answer as he looks at me and seems normal all the sudden.

"The ice fields are vast. Do you recall anything else?"

"No," I say, suddenly feeling like I was played into taking him to a place I'd rather avoid, and he tightens his lips before looking at the orb again, but without any kind of attraction to it.

"It would be a lot of ground to cover," he comments, appearing to be completely unaware of my growing hesitance when I think about how many times I've dreamt of killing him there and how I easily did it this morning when I was pushed to the brink. It doesn't matter that it wasn't the real him. What does matter is that I did it, easily, and he nods again while contemplating something and stares at the dream powder on the floor.

"The dream powder is something Koerin would use. It seems like his style to go after you and drive you mad. He'd do it if he would expect it to link you to me," he muses. "But he's not strong enough to take on Chaos in a physical one-to-one. Whatever was here threw Chaos into the cupboards."

He nods at the cupboard to contemplate the level of damage, stares at them a moment more, and then returns his attention to the orb.

"You mentioned a man in red, similar to Sephiroth."

"Yes."

"That was Genesis," he tells me. "Genesis was a master of the arts, summoning was his specialty and he would go out of his way to _collect_ rare specimens. It was rumoured that he was able to steal the essence from some of Hojo's experiments after the reported sightings following his alleged death with nothing more than empty Materia," he informs.

Then he nods at the uncharged materia I'm holding. It's empty.

"We've never been able to prove that he's still alive though, and all we've had to go by were sparsely spread-out rumours.

"Well, needless to say that due to what happened to you this morning, and due to the _gifts_ lying around, I believe that it would be wise if we left as soon as possible," he concludes, and he takes the materia from me to break the trance that I've fallen into while staring at it and he puts it in his pocket. "We'll take this with us. It may be safer if we keep it concealed."

As he carefully covers it with his handkerchief and places it in his pocket, heavy steps hit the floor boards of the hall outside our room. It whimsically beats in time with the storm outside.

_Thump… thump…_

The thunder, the lightening, and the steady sound of heavily armoured boots growing nearer from the outside hall, slow as if not in a hurry, mingle as if in unison like a heartbeat.

_Thump… thump…_

And the lightning flashes, along with a bellowing wail of thunder that rattles the windows, and I think, _the storm's _overheadas the thumping stops like there was never anyone there, but I can still hear it in my head as if it's taunting me.

_Thump… thump…_

"Vince…" Tseng quietly says as the static in the air is felt on every hair on my body, traveling along the cortex and finding its way inside, alive, yet still.

"We need to go," he says, still as quiet as he was a moment ago and he reaches to grab me in a manner of urgent coaxing as another flash of lightening fills the room, almost blinding, and another threatening rumble broods overhead, so heavy, and the door to the hallway flies off its hinges with a force no human is capable of, revealing nothing on the other side that I can see.

And Chaos…

_Thump… thump…_

Chaos lunges not at the enemy, but at Tseng.


	39. Another Side to Chaos

**Another Side to Chaos**

* * *

"Leviathan… I'm gonna be…"

It sounds like someone is retching, throwing up. The sound of liquid splashes against the ground, floor, or whatever it is and he attempts to clear his throat. He's coughing and the scent of stale dampness mixed with a fresh sourness invades my senses.

"That must be… that… teleport thing I've… heard about… Dr. Crescent… Lucrecia… mentioned something in her records… about Chaos possessing the ability… to teleport…"

It's Tseng's voice that's talking, and the tone of his voice doesn't suggest that we're in any kind of danger. I can't see him though. I can only hear him as he sounds like he's spitting on the ground to clear out the taste in his mouth before he continues talking as if he's having trouble.

"I had no idea that he could teleport others with him and… I'm assuming it's not meant… for humans…"

He trails off and sounds like he's throwing up again, and afterwards, I hear the sound of uneven shuffling before blurry images start to form. It's dark, wherever we are, and there's a faint green glow coming from unevenly spaced areas. It reminds me of the colour of mako as the halo of the light remains too unclear to fully make out where it's coming from, and somewhere in the distance, I can hear water running. It almost sounds like a water fall, and there are other sounds, like water dripping in an uneven pattern as it echoes through what I'm guessing is a cave of some sort.

I don't hear the sound of thunder anymore though, which suggests that either enough time has passed or that we're far from where we were. Yet Chaos doesn't seem to be interested in allowing me to return to myself and for the first time, its presence doesn't seem to overpower me either. It's almost like it's allowing me some kind of submissive awareness as the glowing light becomes brighter, the images clearer, and a blurry form that can only be Tseng is hunched over, gripping his gut, and throwing up again.

"Hurt…" I unwillingly say, like it's not me saying it. It's a foreign voice, not my own, and it's much deeper and huskier than my own—almost like a surreal and broken growl that struggles to speak.

"No…" Tseng answers and wipes at his mouth after spitting on the ground again. All the while, he steadies himself by placing his hand against the rock formation above his head with his other hand. "It's just… not meant to be… not natural."

Then he returns to holding his gut and Chaos grunts as if it's almost apologizing while focussing on the Turk the entire time.

"This must be… where you were imprisoned…" Tseng assumes and nods his head towards the direction where the light is coming from. The green glow makes him appear sicker than he probably is as Chaos refuses to follow Tseng's coaxing to look around and verify his assumptions, "Where Vincent's… where Lucrecia found you... or… Grimoire… Grimoire Valentine… wasn't it?"

With a futile snicker he allows himself to slump down with a grimace. He stretches out one leg—the one he usually favours—and he bends the other so he can relax his forearm over his knee. He does it so quickly that Chaos nearly pounces. But for some strange reason, it manages to stop itself when Tseng looks at it with a warning in his eyes, almost like they understand each other in the way that a dog understands its master and vice versa.

"I take it there were more like you…" Tseng muses as he looks further into an adjoining alcove that Chaos won't allow me to see. Everything seems like the dreams I normally have—I can't move, speak, or even close my eyes. Yet I'm more than aware that this is real while I piece together that Chaos must have grabbed Tseng and then teleported him to where we are now, and I assume that we're in the cavern where Lucrecia and my father, Grimoire, collected Chaos so they could bring it to their lab. It's the same place where Lucrecia imprisoned herself after the birth of Sephiroth.

"They must have been taken to the labs as well…"

"Ngh!" Chaos grunts back and takes a hesitant step toward the Turk as if it's trying to state that it wants to go closer but won't do it without permission, and again, Tseng looks at him like he'd prefer it if it just stayed where it is.

"Family…" Tseng breathes out, almost sighing as he lets his head fall back like he's too exhausted from whatever happened, and he lazily turns his had back to the adjoining cavern, "I assume…"

"Dess… troy…"

"Killed?" Tseng asks, and then he nods to confirm it before quietly stating that, "I know how that feels."

Then he grimaces with his hand over his gut and Chaos takes another step closer.

"I lost my family too."

"No…"

"Hm…" Tseng mutters before letting out another deep and shaky breath as he turns his attention back to Chaos and tiredly sweeps his eyes over him.

"I hope you're trying to tell me that you know… instead of… 'no'…"

After that, he snickers at himself and shakes his head like he knows it's not that funny. But now that I've come to know him and I know how he does his best to bury everything that he feels, it's not that surprising that he'd make a joke out of something that obviously bothers him, and at that, his hand almost reaches into his pocket to toy with his missing locket before he stops himself and frowns.

"Ng… no…"

"I see," Tseng mindlessly says and turns his attention back to the other cavern. Not all of them were killed… or none of them… Or you simply have no idea how to communicate and I'm wasting my time by trying."

After that, he pushes himself up, grimaces again, and decides to pull the red orb from his pocket and uncovers it.

"I thought that… this might have been for you," he tells Chaos, "To collect you from Vince…" Then he wryly mutters to himself that he's not even sure if Chaos understands a damned word he's saying. "But it would be glowing while out of your possession if it was."

He almost looks disappointed as he tosses it at Chaos' feet and turns his back to us so he can be less obvious about grimacing and gripping into his gut again, and for the first time, Chaos takes his attention away from the Turk and stares at the orb. There's a faint glow inside as if it's being awakened.

"I never understood why that is," he says and he keeps his hand against the wall as he takes a few steps toward the adjoining cavern. "One would think it shouldn't really matter who touches it. Yet it won't work while in its target's possession… It also won't work if it's equipped… unless… it's already claimed its target… hm."

"Hm…" Chaos repeats, still staring at the orb and not at Tseng anymore as the red slowly becomes brighter from a small pin point at the centre. It almost looks like small stars are starting to form inside of it. Small pin-sized lights seem to multiply as they start to branch out in a flare-like pattern, so slow that it almost crawls while resembling the birth of a universe inside of itself.

"Summon Materia was Genesis' next favourite thing. Besides Loveless, it was all he liked to talk about… Of course, it was a nice change from hearing him recite long scripts from an unfinished play… He was a soldier like Sephiroth… almost identical…"

"Ngh…."

"Yes," Tseng responds as if he's answering something, as doubtful as it is.

"It was from him that I learned that if you covered it with cotton or any other natural material, or even equipped it, that it wouldn't be able to 'collect', and if it was too close to the intended target or 'collection', as Genesis liked to call it, that it wouldn't work either… 'It has to be close, but not too close', he told me, and of course, I also learned that loveless was his greatest love and equal disappointment, and I also learned that he couldn't understand what I saw in Sephiroth.

"Then again, he couldn't understand what _anyone_ ever saw in Sephiroth—he was too jealous of him; everything about him…"

"Ngh…" Chaos responds again, watching the streams of red inside begin to crawl along the edges as if veins are filling up with energy, and I think to myself that Tseng must feel like no one's listening to him in order for him to be so informative for a change. However, I'm just not finding it as interesting as what Chaos is focussing on as a small stream begins to find its way out of the orb and begins to travel as other streams creep out and intertwine with it, crawling through the air as if reaching for something.

"The strange thing about him was that he looked up to Sephiroth, strived to be like him—better than him.

"At times, I could swear that he wanted to _be_ him, and at the same time, he secretly loathed him… Sephiroth knew about it, and in a strange sort of way, he felt the same way. Though his jealousy was more in regard to Genesis getting too close to me…

"I honestly never really understood it… Genesis wasn't interested in… well… romantic encounters of any kind, I guess you could say…

"And to top it all off, they remained best friends right until Genesis became ill and turned on Shinra… He was the first one to become the victim of Jenova's cells."

He pauses and becomes quiet as he steps farther into the other cavern while remaining in Chaos' peripheral vision, and Chaos watches the stream from the orb. It grows stronger as it travels farther and with a stronger direction, and Tseng appears more uncomfortable as it gets closer to him as if he's the target.

I may not know everything that there is to know about Summon Materia, but one thing I'm certain of is that it isn't capable of going after humans.

At least, it never did in the past.

Though, knowing Shinra, and everything they've ever been involved in, it's possible that they've managed to somehow tamper with it.

Either that, or they've managed to get involved with someone else that's managed to tamper with it. I don't know what's worse though, the fact that Tseng appears to be unable to see the stream reaching toward him, making contact and starting an alternating flow from the area he often reaches for when he winces like something is making him uncomfortable, or the fact that I can't do anything about it while Chaos passively watches. His attention is on Tseng now, and he focuses on the Turk's face as if there's something he's watching for.

I can't help but suddenly reflect on the fact that Tseng has mentioned that the pain never went away after Sephiroth stabbed him. The dream about the redhead—Genesis—offering to help someone else possibly revive Tseng suddenly comes to mind, and I can't help but mind the fact that he always seems like he's hiding from something that he's not letting on about.

At times, it almost seems like he's expecting someone or something to come out of the shadows, and I grow more curious as Tseng subtly winces and continues with his story.

"I always suspected that the reason Sephiroth turned his back on Genesis was because of what happened in the past. I also suspected that Genesis blamed me for it. He wanted Sephiroth to help him… He believed that Sephiroth's cells were healthy and that they could reverse the deteriorating effects he was suffering from.

"But when that failed, and Hojo experimented on the young Soldiers—Zack and Cloud—he started going after Cloud," he says before he sets his eyes on a raised area and decides to sit down as if he's suddenly too tired to stand. "I suppose I should clarify some things…

"Of course, I should probably be clarifying them to Vincent. But Vincent isn't here right now, is he?"

"Ngh."

He nods at the response and straightens out his legs. Then he sighs and rubs his hand over his abdomen while muttering that, "I shouldn't have thrown my breakfast out…"

"Ngh," Chaos grunts again and inconspicuously picks the orb up and places it into the area where my gauntlet would normally be. Whether he knew it would deactivate the Materia's link with Tseng or not is unclear to me.

However, I can't help but suddenly feel like he was trying to show me something that I wouldn't have normally seen.

"Well, the truth is that you're easier to talk to," he continues.

Then he lowers his voice as if he's talking to himself.

"And it's probably because you don't understand a damned word I'm saying..." he trails off before he returns his attention to Chaos and tells it that, "I have a problem, you see… I've always been good at giving and following orders. I've also always been good at articulating events and circumstances.

"In fact, I've always been good at discussing anything that wasn't personal. However, when it comes to actual communication on a personal level, I find that I'm unable to… well… I'm just not very good at discussing anything of a personal nature.

"I try," he says, "But it always backfires on me… Perhaps that's why I choose to stay silent about certain things, even when I shouldn't.

"Of course it's all nothing but excuses, but I like to think that it's the same reason why I tend to lie as much as I do. That way, if I tell someone something that isn't true, I can get away with not telling them what 'is' true, and the truth is that I never had an affair on Sephiroth, at least not while we were together. Marina was the only person I ever considered myself to truly cheat on, and it was with Sephiroth."

As he speaks, I think it's a good thing that I can't respond because he would have clammed up the moment I would have said something to cut him off and clarify what the hell he's going on about now. I also can't help but notice that his energy seems to slowly be returning to him since Chaos deactivated the Materia.

"Genesis and I…" he starts and takes a moment to pamper his leg.

He seems to have forgotten about the pain in his abdomen as well as his hunger, and he lets out a sigh like he doesn't really want to talk about what he wants to talk about.

"We were sent on a mission together. We spent a lot of time with just the two of us.

"Despite the reason we were there, the time that we spent 'off duty' together was harmless. He spent most of his time musing over anything that stirred the 'poet' inside of him, and I spent most of my time burying myself in my work because that's what I do best. What little time we did contribute to getting to know each other was over a meal where neither of us said much to the other unless I managed to bring up one of his favourite topics.

"You see, the problem I had with Genesis was that the moment he started talking about something he enjoyed, he became too passionate about it and I would find myself wishing he would shut up.

"That was the extent of our relationship," he tells me, and I wonder why.

"I couldn't explain that to Sephiroth though. He was convinced that there was no way either of us could have spent that much time together in isolation without anything happening. Particularly when he considered the fact that I was sleeping with him while I was still married to Marina.

"Basically, he behaved the same way over Genesis that your host behaves over Reno. Only, I don't believe that Sephiroth ever actually tried to kill Genesis over his jealousy. He just left me feeling like the best way to get him to stop accusing me of doing something I didn't do was to tell him that I did do it, and I regretted it the moment the words left my mouth.

"He didn't waste any time—leaving me. He made me feel even worse because he didn't get angry, and of course there was the small issue about how Genesis would react to it the moment he was confronted by Sephiroth.

"However, to my surprise, Genesis didn't get upset over the confrontation. Instead, he appeared to find the whole thing amusing, and like the muscle-brained Soldiers that they were, they decided to dual over the matter and be done with it after a winner was declared—they were typical morons in that aspect," Tseng confides with a knowing disappointment over his choice for a mate, and he rolls his eyes as if he's embarrassed over the admittance of it.

"Unfortunately, it didn't really end there and Genesis must have been more affected by it than he let on. They were sent on another mission that Seph was supposed to lead and they were gone for several months. When they came back, Genesis came to visit me.

"It was the very first thing he did when he got back, which made me a little suspicious. Of course, it didn't stop me from making the mistake of letting him in… He showed me pictures."

After that, he breaks off for a moment and looks down while I note that his skin is carrying a little more colour than usual, despite the sickly green glow from the mako in the adjoining cave, and Chaos suddenly turns its attention to where it put the Materia in my gauntlet as if it's answering my silent question. Then it returns its attention to Tseng.

"Pictures…" he repeats again and shakes his head as if he can't really believe it, still. "That… backstabbing… he _literally_ followed Sephiroth _everywhere_… and he took… _pictures_ of him—his _supposed _best friend—with every single person Sephiroth thought he was alone with.

"Every. Single. One," he repeats, unable to hide the fact that it still bothers him as Chaos subtly moves closer to him.

"His intentions were obvious. He never would have done it otherwise, and it was no secret that he wanted everything that Sephiroth had, regardless of whether he really wanted it or not. So I did what I felt was the right thing to do, despite how much I wanted to get back at Seph, and I kicked him out…

"Or at least… I tried to…" he confesses, and Chaos carefully sits near him while maintaining enough distance to respect the Turk's space.

"But they're enhanced, like your host… Genesis was a strong man… and in the end, I decided that I no longer cared. I lost the man I loved because of a lie. I lost my self-respect because of how easily he turned to others afterwards… A part of me wanted to get back at him and I suddenly found the blame resurfacing for what happened to Marina and Saity—whom I also loved and sorely blamed Sephiroth for—and I… simply didn't care.

"At that point, I just… really didn't care."

"But I do now," he adds and rubs at his eyes with his palms as if admitting that he didn't care about whatever portion of the story he's leaving out has lifted a heavy weight.

"You have no idea how good it feels to finally get this off my chest. Sephiroth never knew about it, and when he came back, I decided that it was best to leave it at that. Genesis though… he decided that he no longer felt the need to hide his dark side around me and made my life a living hell every chance he got… If he's still alive… Well… I'm not a man without fear…

"There are a lot of things that I fear, and unfortunately he has a pretty good idea what nearly all of them are because I was fool enough to tell the man he was best friends with, and best friends talk. If he's still bent out of shape over the fact that he was not only screwed over by me, but by Shinra as a whole, which also involves me, and his best friend on several occasions and in his greatest hour of need, which conveniently happened to be my…

"Well, I could be in more trouble than I initially thought… and worst of all, I've managed to bring you into it—_Vincent_—into it."

At that, he looks down at the ground and moves the toe of his shoe through the dirt while loosely clasping his hands in front of him and sighs.

"I don't think there's anywhere I can go. If I go back to Shinra, it will put them at risk, and if I stay with you… Well, I believe I've already put you at risk. But the damage is reversible at this point… I think…

"I think…" he repeats again and lets out a heavy sigh as Chaos attempts to inch closer to him and he gets up as if to say 'no.'

"I think that I should go to the Northern Continent… alone."

His choice of words disheartens me and the feeling of disappointment feels worse because I can't do or say anything to talk him out of it as he stands with his back to me and jokingly asks in poor taste, "I'm already dead, right? What more harm could come to a dead man?"

_More than you realize, _I quietly think, while Chaos focuses on Tseng's exposed hand in a curious way when the light from the Mako prisons hits it. It seems luminescent, almost pearl-like somehow, like there's another layer of life as it moves about him, hovering below and above his skin in a way that seems disturbingly familiar, and I suddenly think about the strength in which he pushed me off the bed with earlier, and his mysterious re-emergences after his supposed death.

"Perhaps, if that's where I wanted you to go in your dreams then… Perhaps that's where I should go…"

I think about the fact that he admitted to lying to hide the truth, and the way that his irises appeared red like mine—when he held the orb back in Kalm, but silvery like mirrors—when he awoke back in Cosmo Canyon. I almost forgot about it and waved it off as a trick of the mind at the time. But now that I think of it, he fights like Sephiroth and he shoots like me, and Chaos casually removes his attention from Tseng to sweep it over the broken prisons before it stops at one of them.

And the next thing I know, I'm suddenly assaulted by Chaos' will as if it's showing me something that I never would have known or remembered otherwise.

Lucrecia had the same glow near the end of her pregnancy with Sephiroth, but only Chaos could see it. Sephiroth carried it too, and again, only Chaos could see it, and now he's showing me that Tseng is somehow linked more than either of us knows or lets on.

"Vince…" Tseng calmly says, pulling my attention back to him as he continues to stand with his back to me, "I know you're not here… And I know that this quest I'm on is eventually going to do me in. I know it's inevitable. But there's something I… wish I could tell you without sounding too cryptic… Or without sounding like I welcome death…

"I fear it," he says before he looks down and places his hand in his pocket while lowly adding, "After Sephiroth stabbed me, I fear it to the point of feeling sick over it… But there are some things I fear more," and he starts to walk away while Chaos continues to sit there and watch him, and I reflect on Sephiroth's and Genesis' words and conversations from my dreams.

As much as I hate to admit it, and as much as I fear that he may be suspecting that my own premonitions may be coming true, I fear that I may not be able to let him go alone.

I can stop it from happening, I tell myself, over and over.


	40. The Story of a Dog

**The Story of a Dog**

* * *

_No…_

Mako poisoning….

Tseng was treated for it in Nibelheim when he was cheating on his wife with Sephiroth but he never said _where_, and he never said by _whom_.

_Kjata…_

Hojo used me as a constant source of study. I remember it…

I remember him taking fluids from me and running an experiment on one of his 'subjects.' I remember it because he was unusually concerned about getting caught when he'd never concerned himself with the possibility before.

And now for the first time, I believe I'm starting to share that concern as I unwillingly curl up to broken shards left by prisons of mako from some other time.

Still, Chaos has control and it seems particularly fond of the prison its chosen while it continuously stares in the direction where the Turk left.

Tseng never looked back and Chaos continues to let out a low sound as if it's mourning a loss while I grow more frustrated with my inability to do anything about it …

* * *

"Well… well… well…" comes a voice that partially wakes me. I must have lost consciousness after Tseng left as the sound of heavily armoured boots step closer. They're calm sounding steps, slow and unhurried.

"It took me days," he says. "Then I realized that your symbiotic relationship might have brought you here. Or is it… more like a cancer?

"I've grown rather fond of the sciences and I'm genuinely curious how two entirely separate beings can remain two entirely separate beings when they share the same… Oh… I suppose I'm getting ahead of myself. The last time I saw you, you had a dog with you—one that requires medical attention, provided that it's not too late. Besides your symbiotic relationship, I'm even more curious as to where that dog might be now."

"Dog…?" I question, noting the slur to my own voice as I open my eyes and rapidly blink to clear them out.

I'm still in the cave, lying on my back with my arms outstretched and my back is arched over the uncomfortable mess of demolished mako prisons around me. They're more destroyed than they were before I lost consciousness, and I suddenly wonder… _days?_

"Yes," he says. "A dog. He's about five-foot-eleven, black hair, and bares a mark on his forehead so that he can openly lie about his devotions without saying a word, and I believe that his master sorely misses him."

"Master," I mutter as something sharply taps me in the centre of the forehead and I look up to see an auburn haired man looking down at me. He's crouched down near the top of my head, clean-shaven and serenely smiling at me as he stabs his finger a couple of times into the same spot where Tseng has his tattoo.

"Yes. His master is concerned about him. The pet that you've stolen is not a healthy pet and attention is promptly required," he tells me. Then he stands and offers to help me up while I refuse. "It is of utmost importance that we find and return him for

immediate treatment, and it is preferable that I persuade you to lend a helping hand."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I ask as I push myself up and rub at my forehead.

I'd ask him who he is but a part of me is afraid that my guess might be right and that he might confirm it, and I'm just not ready for it right now. At least, I don't think I am when I take a quick glance around at the claw marks on the walls of the cave and briefly wonder what in the hell Chaos has been doing before I quickly dismiss the thought and return my attention to the other man.

He has a youthful appearance to him, almost angelic, and he possesses a grace in his stance and his movements as he melodically speaks in a soothing voice. According to Tseng, he was hell, and according to Cloud, he was merciless vengeance, and according to my own dreams, he was a greying man that was falling apart as if he was decaying.

But that's not the case at the moment. He's young in appearance, and if he's as dangerous as I'm led to believe he is, he's doing a damned fine job of hiding it. Even his eyes seem expressive as they regard me with something that looks like genuine empathy.

"I'm talking about the dog," he answers. "He managed to dig his way out of the yard before he could be thoroughly treated, and his master and I both agree that this benefits no one."

At that, he pulls a grey hair from his bang, twirls it between his forefinger and thumb, and drops it while sighing.

"And I'm afraid that I can get quite unpleasant if benefits slip me by."

"You want me to help you…" I surmise, and I almost lose my footing when I stand and a dizzy swoon hits me unexpectedly. "Why would I do that?"

"Because it's in his best interest, and therefore it's in your best interest."

"Why should I trust you?"

"You shouldn't," he honestly answers, almost with a childlike innocence to his tone. "You'd be out of your mind if you trusted me. On the other hand, I highly doubt that you want to condemn your dog to the inevitable if he isn't returned."

He smiles then, full of charm as he looks at the ground and then he quickly darts his eyes to my gauntlet as if something has caught his curious attention.

"You have nothing to gain over the matter but so much to lose if you really do care for the mutt."

For a moment, I consider what he tells me if not silently questioning it before I snort and straighten out my head scarf that's almost covering my right eye.

"Why don't you seek him out and offer to help him directly then… Why all the games?"

"Because he doesn't trust me and you seem like my best bet because he trusts you."

He almost sounds regretful when he says that, and his energy seems to darken at the thought of it as he turns his attention to the broken prisons and gracefully takes a couple of steps toward them as if he finds something alluring about them in a way that seems melancholic.

"I've given him no reason to trust me… Far from any reason…"

"And what's in it for you?" I suspiciously ask.

And to that, he answers, "Satisfaction."

Then he closes his eyes and faces upward as if basking in the glory of the heavens and four black feathers fall from the inside of his coat, almost as gracefully as he moves. They flutter to the dusty ground before he softly adds, "And justice."

* * *

His name is Genesis. He says it's in my best interest to help him. He wants me to take Tseng against his will and he claims that it's for his own good. He refers to the Turk as a dog, never refraining from the term and its related synonyms, and I assume it's because it allows him to dissociate Tseng from being human. It also makes me wary about his claims of helping him and that it's in both mine and Tseng's best interest.

He makes no attempt to state that he doesn't like the dog and he makes no attempt to deny anything that I confront him with. He admits that he did something to Tseng, but like Tseng, he won't say what it is. His only response is a serene smile when I pry, and a justification that doesn't sit well with me.

"I saw him first," he says, and he leaves it at that.

After that, he tells me that he felt his attempt to get the 'dog' to go to the Northern Continent was effective. He even makes no attempt to hide the fact that he was amused by the situation. But he claims he's unaware of the 'other' dreams as he calls them, and when I mention that Tseng is often dead in them, he thoughtfully mutters, "Interesting…" as if to himself.

Other than that, the best I can get out of him regarding why he supposedly wants to help Tseng is that it's in his best interest to ensure that the Turk—or dog, as he puts it—remains in good health.

He also claims that it's in the 'dog's' best interest while mimicking the cryptic phrase of, "Some things are worse than death."

And, to top it off, he claims that it amuses him to keep the 'dog' alive.

He enjoys the game and the rewards outweigh the repercussions as he puts it.

However, he's not the only one involved in the 'game.'

There's the 'Master' that he won't explain further than that, and Koerin, the renegade Turk that has been trying to expose Shinra for some time. Genesis claims that Koerin gets in his way more often than not, and that he went through a lot of trouble to cause a distraction back at the Nibelheim mansion while remaining anonymous.

"Of course, I didn't expect the two of you to blow the place up," he adds, and then he smiles at the irony before I accuse him of almost getting us killed in his attempt to 'save' us.

But at the moment, he's more interested in talking about Koerin and jumps right back to the topic while shrugging my accusation away as if I'm overreacting to it.

The man lost his sister during the Meteor disaster and blamed Shinra for it, and when Rufus refused to compensate him and even went so far as to tell the man that it was his own fault for not being there after Rufus specifically gave the man orders to go with Tseng to Junon, things didn't go so well. Koerin turned and he took others with him that underwent similar situations, and during the transition, they attempted to bring down and expose Shinra right then and there.

Only things didn't go as planned. Rufus was too quick to clean up the mess that Shinra left behind and he was also too quick to disappear. He left the public believing he was dead and that he'd died for a noble cause while attempting to save the world from Avalanche, Sephiroth, and Weapon.

Like always, Rufus somehow managed to come out as the hero and the renegade Turks decided that they had to be more creative if they were to bring Shinra down. So they did what they did best. As Turks, they took advantage of their training and investigated everything they could get a lead on, and as a result, Koerin came across incomplete records regarding something that was done to Tseng back in Nibelheim after he single-handedly saved many lives from a Mako reactor that became unstable.

"We were dispatched to handle the situation," he tells me. "But Sephiroth's loyal dog was already there, witnessed the event firsthand, and decided that he'd play the hero, saved as many people as he could, and managed to get himself killed—Sephiroth was devastated."

"Killed?"

"Did I say killed? I meant 'almost' killed. He would have been better off if he remained dead."

_Toying…_

Genesis doesn't elaborate much further on the topic, except to say that Sephiroth took the 'dog' to the nearby Shinra Mansion in Nibelheim where Hojo conveniently happened to be at the time. He tells me that Sephiroth always trusted Hojo, he looked up to him like a father figure.

Then he tells me after a lengthy pause to savour an amused grin and tells me that Hojo had always wanted to study the phenomenon further and that he'd even come up with full studies and hypotheses that he was hoping he could eventually indulge in. These were the records that the renegade Turks later got their hands on, and suddenly, it was clear to them.

They could blow the whole thing open, expose Shinra for what they really were, and best of all, they could attempt to turn Shinra's most prized asset—the director of the Turks known as the rabid dog named Tseng—into what he inevitably was.

I take note that Genesis doesn't say it's a dog though. In fact, he doesn't say much more than that and it frustrates me to no end.

"You see," he tells me, "if they could show the world that Shinra would do this to their very own—_Rufus' _own most beloved and idolized sycophant—what would stop them from doing it to anyone else? They could play on the fears of the people and become the new 'Shinra' saints… Under a different name, of course."

"That's enough," I finally say. "You've told me absolutely nothing."

"Hm… really?"

The more time I spend with him, the more my skin crawls. Every fibre of my being is setting off alarms and mixed signals, and with every bit of information he offers, he toys relentlessly with it to the point that I don't know if he has any intention of actually telling me anything at all, except that he's the most informative person I've run into regarding Koerin, whom is the least of my concerns as I turn my back to the man and start to walk out to find the damned Turk in hopes that he hasn't already done something that will hurt him more than he already is.

"Koerin may have already gotten to him," he suddenly says, musically and calmly before I stop in my tracks and he's suddenly at my side and tapping an insanely long sword on my gauntlet. "Without that Materia, he may have nothing to protect him with."

"What do you really want from me?"

"I told you. I need you to find your dog."

"Why can't you do it yourself? You've been following him all this time."

"Yes. But you see…" he starts before he sets his attention on my gauntlet in an obvious way, "His energy is growing weaker. Not even your newly acquired materia…"

He pauses as he taps my gauntlet again and smiles.

"Or the Jenova cells in my own body can sense him right now. I'm afraid it's already starting."

"Jenova…" I hesitantly say before reflecting on the strange glow that Chaos saw on Tseng when he allowed me a passive observation. "He's infected, isn't he?"

"Yes," he promptly answers, "but there's more… You see… I believe that you may be able to sense him as well and that your ability may be a little stronger than mine."

At that, he angelically smiles and looks around the cave before setting his attention on the broken prisons, and I mutter out, "Kjata."

"No… Not Kjata. Hojo was more than desperate to hide what he found, and make no mistake, what he found was not what he intended to find. He had no idea at the time how it was even possible. But being the deceitful and prying little parasite that he was, he eventually put two-and-two together and became even more nervous over the matter.

"In fact, Sephiroth's loyal little bitch was the only thing that did make him nervous because it was never a project that Hojo would have entertained otherwise.

"You see, Shinra's dogs don't interest Hojo, particularly ones that can't be treated by mako due to a mistake that was made by none other than Hojo back when the dog was a mere pup, and Hojo, as luck would have it, happened to be in Wutai at the time."

"Tseng's been an experiment of Hojo's all along…" I conclude.

"No," he corrects, "not exactly. Hojo actually did try to save his life when he was young. It was what was done to the mutt beforehand that became the catalyst.

"Surely, you realize that he was severely beaten after he confessed his preferences to a trusted friend of his, and if I know the dog as well as I believe I do, I'll bet that he never told you that he was left for dead in a puddle of contaminated mako. This happened near the beginning of the Wutian movement to push Shinra as far away from their continent as possible."

"You're talking in circles."

"Surely… you don't want to know the history of the subject?"

"Subject?"

"There was one woman—only one—that Hojo was ever truly sweet on."

"I don't care about Hojo's love life," I tell him before I start walking out again and he jumps in front of me in a way that resembles a graceful dance.

"Yes you do… She was a dancer."

"A dancer…" I repeat, and I put my head down while recalling Tseng's story about his mother.

"Yes. She was the most beautiful woman Hojo had ever laid eyes on and he courted her like he courted no other. He followed her wherever and whenever he could, even to her homeland in Wutai where he finally gathered enough courage to make his presence known. She accepted, and eventually, they became engaged. But I'm sure you can guess that something went wrong."

"Yes. He was crazy."

With an amused chuckle, he sheathes his sword and tilts his head while stating that, "I'm a sucker for sad endings."

"I bet you are."

"Yes. But the fact that Hojo was a self-righteous maniac wasn't the problem. You see, the one and only show that Hojo never followed her to because he was reassigned to start work in Midgar—almost half a year before they planned to get married—something dreadful happened."

"She was raped."

"I see. He told you."

"Yes. But I don't buy the love story for a second."

"Of course you don't. It is Hojo, of course, and after how cruel he was to your beloved Dr. Crescent, and what he did to you, how could he possibly fall in love with the dog's mother? It must be abhorrent for you to even consider the possibility."

"I can't consider it because it never happened. You're just wasting time for whatever twisted reason you can come up with."

"He always looked at Tseng as the son that should have been his own. Well, that was until Sephiroth came along and filled him with twisted glee as his intentions became more warped."

"You're insane…" I mutter, feeling like I don't need to hear any more and I walk away before he lunges at me and grips into the back of my shoulders hard enough to make me grunt.

Then he pulls me backwards with unnerving ease and hisses into my ear that, "I'm not insane," and he grazes his lips against my cheek, laughs, and pushes me forward, hard enough to make me go flying into the ground in a cloud of dust while he calmly adds, "I'm just desperate."

After that, he delivers a swift kick to my ribs and then crouches beside me after I painfully grunt when he holds me down with one arm.

"Are you familiar with Loveless?" he asks in a conversational way. "No? It's a tragic tale that involves transformation and death… Oh… and I don't like it when people walk out on me… Did I mention that?"

"It must have slipped your mind," I grunt out as he pushes me farther into the dirt and I wind up with a mouth full of it.

Then he climbs over me while turning me onto my back so he can position himself in a crouching position over my hips while looking down at me and serenely smiles before his angelic appearance turns hard and he quickly grips my bangs to pull them from my eyes and leans uncomfortably close.

"We can do this the civil way," he says and gently taps on the side of my face, "and you can humour me along the way. Or we can do this the difficult way. It's up to you."

"Do what?" I ask as he smacks me on the face and stands, and I note a few more black feathers that fall from under his coat as one of them lands on my mouth and I pick it off and study it for a moment. It's like the ones that fell from Sephiroth's wing, smooth and so black that it's almost too black. There's no shine, no sense of depth, no… nothing….

"Find your dog," he musically answers and adjusts his gloves before looking down at me through the corner of his eye.

"And if I refuse?"

"Even Chaos is no match for me, poor, victimized, Valentine. However, as I've mentioned, what I can do to you should be the least of your concerns."

"Right."

"It's what I can do to help your dog that should be of interest to you."

"And you want to help him for your own gain…" I conclude while curiously asking, "Which would be…?"

"I'm not well," Genesis flatly answers. "I will never be well, and the same goes for Tseng."

"Tseng," I repeat, realizing that Genesis didn't call him a dog this time.

"Don't read too much into it. You were a faithful dog once too, but you woke up one day and realized that you were just as disposable as the next person.

"We have much in common, and to answer your question, I did something to your lover that I shouldn't have done, and according to the research I've done on that 'Tonberry,' as Sephiroth so rightfully labelled him, I'm unable to undo it. However, with much effort it can remain stabilized and hidden."

"What did you do?"

"I'd rather not tell you that right now—We're just getting to know each other.

"What I will tell you though, is that Tseng and I are tied together whether either of us likes it or not, and if it wasn't for Sephiroth, Tseng wouldn't be the cure I need, and if it wasn't for me, I wouldn't be the cure he needs. We are not free men, Valentine, and whether you like it or not, you are also an integral part of this web. Albeit, for different reasons."

"Why's that?"

"You haven't figured it out yet?" he asks as I sit up and brush the other feathers from my abdominal area and stand without concerning him. Then he turns around to fully regard me before looking over at the prisons and smiling.

"If you wouldn't have been so quick to cut me off while trying to tell you what's going on, perhaps you'd already have your answer… It's no wonder your dog doesn't tell you anything. You don't let anyone finish speaking before interrupting them in discouraging ways."

"No," I contradict, "I cut them off when they're not making sense."

"Really? How many times have you jumped to the wrong conclusion and voiced it whenever your dog tried to tell you something. How many times did he clam up over the matter?

"I'm afraid that I just don't see what it is that he sees in you… you or Sephiroth…" he says before he slowly sweeps his eyes over me as if the concept genuinely confuses him. "Are you aware of how difficult it is for your lover? One would think that if you really cared about him that you would have noticed the subtle cracks in his shell and made more of an effort to help him mend."

"You seem to have noticed," I suspiciously observe.

In fact, he seems to be unhealthily obsessed while he dismissively shrugs and comments that, "You remind me of a character from Loveless. He's a dark character that chooses to close himself off due to his inability to deal with life… Is that what your problem is, Valentine? You can't deal with life so you choose not to try? Did Hojo and Lucrecia bury their deceit so deep within your prison of flesh?"

"Don't analyze me."

"It's a wonder that you've allowed yourself to feel anything for a dog as deceitful as Shinra's very own, or perhaps he's the epitome of the darkness inside, and you cling to it because without it, you'd have nothing. Perhaps that's it… Why be happy when you can be forever miserable in the comfort of your own self-loathing? Even better if someone shares that loathing. I suppose it makes sense to seek something out that constantly reminds you of what you're not, provided that that's what you want."

It's no wonder that Tseng said all he ever wanted was for Genesis to shut up once he started talking, and like him, I believe I'm in a situation that I can't easily walk away from while he drops hints that make my head hurt over what's true and what's just part of the 'game.'

I get what he's hinting at with the prisons. I understand that he's toying with me by not telling me that Tseng is a hybrid of sorts. Not only is he infected with Jenova and whatever else, but there's an off-chance that he's also harbouring a possible acquaintance of Chaos' if not a part of Chaos itself, or possibly even me. Though I'm not exactly sure of what the full story is as he continues to analyze me with a song and dance regarding why I am the way I am, not that it should make any difference concerning anything he's saying.

But I suppose if someone wants to waste time like I suspect he's doing, it would be a good way to go about it, and I emptily sigh in frustration while knowing that I can't walk out without him overpowering me again. He did it a little too easily and it unnerves me. It unnerves me even more when I think that this is what's after Tseng and that it's also the key to Tseng's mystery.

Yet I get the odd feeling that he's not really interested in hurting me or even Tseng. At least, not in a physical way, and then again, there's the off-chance that there's some truth to his bizarre stories and it's the only thing that stops me from arming myself.

"Oh, by the way, when he slept with you, did he ejaculate inside of you?"

Of course, there's only so much I can take before reason gets thrown out the window and my gun is suddenly in my hand and aptly aimed at what might be the most inappropriate being I've ever run into. For some reason, Cid suddenly seems pristine to me.

"Yes?" he presses and playfully adds, "No?" He's not threatened in the least and his self-assured smile is really starting to get on my nerves as I attempt to stop myself from slowly squeezing the trigger.

"It's hard, isn't it? Fighting with what you really are? You despise it and at the same time you so desperately want to pull that trigger. Yet you know, deep down inside, that the only reason you really want to do it is because it's what you're inevitably designed to do… conditioned… trained… _enhanced_… and… not human… One bullet… and you can make it all go away… Sadly, that one bullet also reinforces what you really are, which is nothing more than another man's tool in the shell of what used to be a man."

I think it's a mistake before it even happens. But the sad fact is that he's right. I don't have the control that I want or yearn or ache for as he so eloquently puts it after he moves faster than lightening to dodge the bullet and slams my back hard enough into the cavern's wall that loose rocks crumble from above us. He's relentless as he purrs my desires into my ear the way a seducer would before he grips into my jaw to hold my head still and invades my mouth with his own.

But it's not a kiss. Something is literally invading my mouth and crawling down my throat while he keeps our mouths sealed and holds me still, completely unaffected by my struggling to get away. It crawls deeper and never detaches from him as if a part of him is reaching out to find something, and when I think about what the hell it might be—his tongue, another part of him or Jenova—I find myself panicked beyond reason.

What makes it even worse is the fact that I don't need air to survive, allowing him to take his time as he violates my insides with no regard to my comfort while I try to claw at him and away from him and uncontrollably gag in an attempt to break free.

"Oh," he finally says as he quickly pulls away and hangs onto me as I double over and fight with an uncontrollable gagging reflex. "He didn't… Smart dog… _very_… smart dog…"

Then he grips my jaw and pulls me back up so he can study me while my eyes uncontrollably roll into the back of my head from the pain inside, and he whispers into my ear, "He must have figured it out."

After that, he roughly pushes me back and lets me go so I can fall to the ground and freely writhe while fluid runs from my mouth as I continue to gag.

"What… did you…do…to me?"

"Just a search… I concluded that you weren't going to answer my question," he tells me while I cough up more clear liquid, gag again, struggle to get up, and he casually wipes at his tongue with gloved fingers as if he's not fond of the taste of something. "He's left no trace of himself inside of you. That's good news… for you.

"Now," he says, and he pulls me up by the arm and roughly pinches me at the same time as he helps me to my feet and I continue to sporadically gag and convulse.

His touch almost feels like it's controlling me as if my movements will only respond to his will and not my own, and without giving me the freedom of choice, he melodically says, "Let's find that dog of yours. The master's patience wears thin."


	41. The Puppet Master

_Many years ago, I worked with a girl named Xvan – pronounced like swan – I thought it was one of the prettiest names I'd ever heard._

**The Puppet Master**

* * *

"Very good, Valentine. Your cooperation is much appreciated," he serenely tells me as he continues to play some kind of puppet master over my actions.

The journey to get where we are felt long and surreal, and now, he sits me on a wooden seat with cushions attached to it after boarding the first ship from Costa Del Sol. It's at the foot of a single bed and built into the cabin walls and floor, and he angelically smiles at me before folding my hands over my lap like he's creating a work of art. When he's done, he pulls the colourless comforter from the bed and tosses it over the mirror as if he has an aversion to something it might reflect.

His face shows no sign to verify my assumption though, and he sits opposite to me to keep watch as the fresh smell of the ocean wafts from the window he opened and he comments that, "I've always loved the smell of the ocean… the fresh air…"

From what I've learned from our travels through warped time and land, he has the ability to make people see what he wants them to see. No one saw us for who or what we really are as we travelled, and I begin to wonder exactly how much of the real him he allows even me to see.

I was almost convinced that no one could see either of us at one point. But he paid for the ticket to the Northern Continent with scraps of garbage and wood chips that he picked from the ground. He's paid for all of our transportation that way, which leads me to believe that the people are seeing something—They're just not seeing the same things I'm seeing.

There were two times that I attempted to lose him, and both times he made me regret it. He's creative with what he does and he has more knowledge on how to inflict pain, both emotional and physical, than I'm comfortable with.

Most of the time he's full of a contagious insanity. Yet there is nothing insane in those piercing eyes of his. There are fluctuations of different emotions—embitterment, hatred—and every now and then he takes a deep breath to awaken something serene and peaceful inside of him in a manner that suggests he yearns for it. He says, like me and like Tseng, that he's afraid of losing himself.

"I know he fears it," he tells me in a quiet form of confidence. "I saw the apprehension in his eyes every time he was faced with the abominations he had to investigate… I saw it when he looked at me…" Then he leans forward and says with a hint of malice that, "It's even there when he looks at you."

He claims to understand it more than either of us though, and he tells me it's because he's already lost himself and that it took every fibre of his exhausted and determined will to rebuild himself into an image of what he once was.

"I fight with the Goddess every second of my waking moments," he tells me, and I assume that the Goddess is Jenova. "There is no reason why I should allow her to take away what I am, and there is no reason why I shouldn't be able to control my own will. It's mine, Valentine—not _theirs_."

"But it's okay for you to control others," I point out, still unable to move as he holds my gaze and softly smiles at me in the manner of an adult regarding a simple child.

"Time is of the essence and this situation requires it. I wouldn't have taken such drastic measures if you could have proven that you had no intentions of running away. But you haven't been able to prove that, have you?

"Don't think I don't know what goes on in that empty head of yours. You're a simple creature and your priority is my priority. Yet you're willing to go out of your way to sabotage it."

He leans forward then, grabs an apple from the bag that he filled when he took a confusing side-trip through Banora, and he takes a bite while closing his eyes for a moment while he chews on it like he savours the taste before swallowing.

He said it was where he grew up, and apparently, they have the best apples in the world.

"Without me, your dog doesn't stand a chance."

"You forced yourself on him, didn't you…" I accuse, assuming it would explain all the dancing around on the topics as well as the in-depth knowledge that he has on Tseng, as well as his disturbingly insightful interest in the man and the fact that he continues to call him a dog suggests that he has very little respect for him as a man and is therefore worthy of the treatment for an undeserving animal.

He doesn't answer me though. Instead, he carelessly shrugs, takes another bite from his apple, and he lazily leans back before musing that, "I always thought I was the more sensitive one when it came to reading people. But alas, observation was my only strength—my best quality. Unlike others, and much like your dog, I felt that we both had something in common when it came to our inability to express ourselves. But that was all there was—a simple common stance."

"You didn't answer my question."

"You didn't ask a question."

"Did you?"

"When?" he asks.

Then he waves his half-eaten apple to his side and softly laughs. He takes another bite before I even realize what hits me after I'm on the floor from him slugging me so hard that the whole side of my face pulses.

At least, he allows me to rub at the throbbing on my cheek before he drags me by the collar to the side of the bed and hisses that, "He's not the one that got hurt, Valentine. Don't think for a moment that your _dog _would ever be as loyal to anyone as he was to Sephiroth. _Sephiroth _was the _only_ one that was ever capable of truly hurting him."

Somehow, I believe I hit a nerve. Though I'm not exactly sure which nerve I might have hit as he calms himself down and almost throws himself onto the bed where he kicks one leg on top of the other and folds his hands over his abdomen.

Part of me says the best thing to do would be to remain silent while I stew over the notion of exposing Tseng to this maniac, but another part of me finds the silence uncommonly uncomfortable. There's something about Genesis' voice that seems to keep things calm as much as they keep me feeling like my head's swimming.

"What did Sephiroth do to him?" I ask, knowing the answer but feeling it might be the best way to help Genesis keep himself under control.

"He lied to him, let his wife know about them, _cheated_ on him while accusing him of cheating, knew what he'd done to him, and then he tried to kill him without ever telling him why."

He lets out a long sigh after that and opens the drawer on the night table behind me, hits my head with it in a way that suggests he did it on purpose, and he pulls out a worn book and starts flipping through the pages. He does it as if he's attempting to avoid something before he quietly says that, "I never would have done those things to him."

He behaves as if he didn't say anything at all before he quickly adds in a manner of frustration, "Not then," and slams the book shut in a way that makes me jump.

"He told Sephiroth he had an affair with you," I openly muse, not really meaning to but it comes out anyway, and in a sordid sort of way, I begin to wonder about it while attempting to get him on a different topic for my own self-preservation.

"Hm," he snorts, and then he wryly grins. "Flattery from a dog…"

Then he takes a bite from his apple and contemplatively chews.

"Besides observation, honesty was my other virtue. I would have told him. I even tried. But Sephiroth, on the other hand, let his guilt get the better of him. He couldn't face the fact that he unknowingly infected his lover. Neither of us could have known what would happen. We were lied to, and for some reason, Sephiroth held _me_ responsible for it.

"I don't think either of us would have allowed ourselves to behave as freely as we believed we could if we'd known. You see, our _doctors_ never considered the possibility of Jenova spreading like a virus," he tells me as he floats his hand through the air to emphasize how easily it spreads. "Perhaps they just never thought we'd be _human_ enough to want to be intimate with anyone, or perhaps they just thought that we'd never get out of the bounds of other enhanced soldiers that were probably already infected.

"But the dog…" he quietly trails off, opens the book again and flips through a few more pages and then carelessly tosses the remains of his apple out the window where it lands with a strange thud and someone complains from the deck that someone threw a Gaia damned apple core at them.

Genesis remains indifferent to it though, and he shakes his head while he stews over something and continues to flip through the pages as if he's looking for something before he finally adds in a manner of anger, "The dog was clean."

Then he closes the book again and turns onto his side so he can look over the edge of the bed at me while he props his head on his hand and continues in a confidential manner, "He was cleaner than clean because of the treatment he underwent when he was a child. Hojo had to ensure that Xvan would never be without her son. He was all she had left, and that lunatic still loved her as miraculous as that may seem.

"As a result, Xvan's little boy had no natural defence against us and according to Hojo's records, all it took was once…"

"Xvan…" I mutter, realizing that Tseng never mentioned his mother's name to me.

"At first, Hojo had no idea what was going on. Sephiroth brought his dog to him in desperation, demanding that he help, and according to his records when he went to remove the Mako in the same manner that he'd done in the past, he found that he suddenly couldn't. It had changed on a molecular level and fused with something else. It was something that shouldn't have been possible.

"You see, the mutations were already starting to take effect. They were triggered by the reaction to the Mako and Hojo didn't know what to do. By that time, the Bitch wasn't only the son of the woman he was still in love with, he was also a prominent figure and close to the President's son who was becoming evermore prominent and influential.

"To top it off, he was a Turk in the higher ranks that people would have noticed if he disappeared. Autopsies would have been ordered and Shinra's departments would have tightened up over the matter once they discovered the abnormalities in his cells. They would have invested heavily into an investigation, which in turn, would have become an obstacle to Hojo.

"Well, he was at a loss to say the least, and he was panicking. So he did what any insane scientist would have done. He sped up the inevitable process and murdered the Dog by suffocating him before the mutations could take on any physical effects. After that, he desperately dug up Dr. Crescent's records to find out more about how she resurrected you.

"However, he had to be more successful than her and he didn't fully trust her research after seeing the results of her last project," he says, and he takes a moment to mockingly sweep his eyes over me to emphasize that I was her last project, "So he decided that he'd also dig up your father's records since he was the original founder on the research of the prisons that harboured Chaos and the others, and he needed all the help he could get.

"After all, he couldn't leave behind any physical signs of what was done and happening, and certainly, there could be _no_ Chaos."

"Of course, the worst part was that he also felt that he had to find a way to eliminate the Dog's wife and his daughter without making it seem like they were terminated. After all, if he was infected, and Hojo had no idea how long he'd been infected for. Well… his wife and his daughter might have been too.

"What to do… what to do…"

"So… He's…" I slowly work out while Genesis takes a moment to brush a few grey hairs from the bed that have fallen from his bangs when he adjusted the position of his head.

"Going to turn into something no one has probably ever seen before and wreak havoc if we don't get to him soon," Genesis finishes. Then he grins a sly grin and openly admits, "Not that I have a problem with that."

"Kjata…" I mutter, and I reflect on Sephiroth telling Tseng that he'd never let that happen, and how they seem to keep telling me that some things are worse than death, "That's why Sephiroth stabbed him."

"Yes," Genesis answers. "It would appear that even with nothing left of whom he used to be, he _still_ remembered his cherished dog and his promise… He left me no other choice. I had to find Hojo's records and the right allies to revive him."

"Why?" I ask. "Why revive him if it's only going to condemn him… and who's your ally?"

"The dog's master is none of your concern…" he mutters while seeming agitated at the grey hairs more than he was before, "And because there's more to the story."

Then he pulls out another grey hair before brushing a few more of them from his shoulders as if they'd been falling out at a steady pace and it's starting to bother him at a distracting level. He's been slowly declining in his youthful appearance since he found me in the caverns and he leans over the edge of the bed to take the summon materia from my gauntlet and hurriedly walks to the small bathroom.

"I'm afraid that in my own haste as a youth, I developed a dependency. Be it a curse, or be it a miracle…"

After that, he closes the door and a bright flash explodes from the cracks, filling up the whole room with a blinding light and I notice that I'm suddenly able to move. Rather than fight or try to figure out what the hell just happened, I decide that the best course of action is to run and I quickly crawl towards the door when my mobility returns in hopes that I can get the hell away from him as fast as I possibly can.

Only as luck would have it, he emerges from the room with more energy than anyone would know what to do with, and he uses it to his advantage.

It feels like I'm being electrocuted from the inside as he quickly covers my mouth with his hand and he tells me not to make a sound.

"I don't recall saying you could leave," he tells me, and he drags me back while I convulse and pry at his hand that suppresses my uncontrolled screams. Then he stops and rests behind me, keeping his knees under my arms and my back against his chest. "I want this trip to go as smoothly as it possibly can… Now… if I remove my hand, will you behave?"

I can only nod as an answer and that's exactly what I do since I have no other choice.

"Good… good…" he says, and he slowly removes his hand while keeping his other arm around my waist to keep me in place.

"I really don't like having to exert so much energy so soon," he soothingly tells me, causing confusion before he tosses the Summon Materia that he took from me onto the bed.

It's completely empty, and I think, _Kjata… that's why he wants to keep him alive… _while I continue to sporadically convulse in his arms.

"I might make a mess," he whispers and slightly shudders before he gets up and positions me in the corner formed by the bed and the nightstand. Whatever grey hairs he had are gone. He appears more youthful and vibrant as he picks up the empty orb that was collecting something from Tseng, and he snickers before securing it onto the handle of his sword.

"You're… feeding… on him…" I say, struggling to get the words out while my muscles continue to spasm and fail my commands. "That's why… you want… him…"

"At one time, I thought the only way to cure myself was to harvest Sephiroth's cells. I thought they could cure me and I was even so bold to ask, assuming that we were friends. But as it turned out… No… I don't think we were as close as I thought we were, and I thought that… _other_… matters were behind us.

"It didn't matter though. Sephiroth held a grudge regarding his little bitch and when I finally got my hands on some samples left in Hojo's lab, I discovered that Sephiroth's cells were useless to me… I couldn't understand why I craved for them the way that I did… or even why I was convinced…

"That was until I was alone with Tseng back in Modeoheim. It was a long time since I'd been alone with him… and all the betrayal… what he did to me… how he made me feel… it _all_ came flooding back. I decided I'd let him know how I felt. I'd bottled it up for far too long and I had so little left of myself that I didn't care in the least about any possible repercussions. And it felt. So. Good…"

"You… raped him…"

"No…" he says. "No…"

Then he caresses his bottom lip with his gloved ring-finger and softly snickers.

"I think you might have an unhealthy obsession with that concept. I would never do something like that. Not to _Sephiroth's_ keepsake. I won't argue that he wouldn't have deserved it. But… No… Instead, I pulled out an empty Summon Materia and drained his essence until he was nearly dead. His screams…" he breathes out. "Oh…"

"It doesn't… work… on humans…"

"Who said that Sephiroth's Bitch was human?" Genesis innocently asks. "I thought I was rather clear about what he _wasn't_… However, I didn't expect him to regenerate so quickly. Nor did I realize I was doing him a favour, or even a favour for myself at the time. I might have killed him if it wasn't for the fact that he reminded me Soldiers were close behind, and that… _Zack_."

"What… favour…?" I ask, wondering why Tseng would be covered in scars if he regenerated as well as Genesis says he does.

"Taking what I took slowed down his mutation.

"You see, the dog sometimes fell ill and into the care of Hojo. It was arranged that way by Hojo—that he be the dog's personal physician after the Mako incident. He insisted that the Turk needed his close observation because he was aware of the full medical history and his rare condition caused by the accident at the reactor. Of course, it was a little. _White._ Lie."

"Hojo… kept him… stable…"

"Yes, and it wasn't until shortly before the bitch moved in with Sephiroth that he suddenly started to become aware as to _how _the dog developed his mysterious condition. After all, who would have imagined that the son Hojo always felt should have been his, and his real son that he created for experimental purposes would have wound up rubbing the flesh under the sheets together. Perhaps it's irony in its purest form," he suddenly muses, and he takes a moment to consider it while staring out the window and suddenly snickering at it.

"Perhaps it's even more ironic than I thought," he musically quips.

Then he turns his attention to me and smiles in amusement.

"You were in love with Hojo's wife, and surely, you were sour enough over the circumstances to feel that Sephiroth should have been your son, and now, _you're_ sleeping with the man _he_ loved."

He outright laughs then, a full, hearty laugh straight from his gut as he arches his neck and looks up to the heavens like he's thanking them for the entertainment. Then he grabs a small cloth from the top of the dresser, sits on the edge of the bed, and starts to polish his boots with it. "This truly puts Loveless to shame."

"What did he do to you?" I finally ask, not really caring about how thrilled he is over the irony, and Genesis pauses for a moment as his eyes bitterly darken and he returns to polishing his boot more vigorously than he was a second ago.

"He said I obsessed over Sephiroth too much—that I couldn't do _anything_ without being reassured that it was equal to or better than what Sephiroth did. Then he discarded me. He acted like I never existed the moment Sephiroth said that he wanted him back."

He almost sounded bitter but he hid it well in a carefree way. Then he makes himself more comfortable on the bed and folds his hands behind his head while closing his eyes and tiredly concluding that, "I'm growing tired of your lack of intellectual stimulus and would rather stop talking to you for now. Do you mind if I take a quick nap?"

And before I can answer, the room goes dark as if he's managed to control me with an off switch.

* * *

The journey from Costa Del Sol to Icicle Inn is an eight hour trip across the ocean, and I'm not sure how long I've been out when I hear Genesis talking as if he's talking to someone that isn't here and I open my eyes to see that he's on the phone.

"I told you Valentine was a valuable asset," he says, "and here, you wanted him out of the picture… No…No… Your concerns aren't my concerns in that particular area… I only make the delivery and you uphold my request. For now, Valentine will stay alive until I decide otherwise."

Genesis smiles a bit of a devilish smile as he pauses long enough for the other person to say what they're saying, but I can't hear the other person's voice like I normally can, which almost makes me wonder if he's done something to me or if he's just mad enough to talk to himself while thinking that he's talking to someone else.

"Well consider this, without him it would take me far longer to find your dog… Oh, but surely you're aware that that's exactly what he is to you. There's no need to deny it… Where's Valentine now?" he asks in the form of mimicry as he looks at me and I find that I'm able to move and he smiles as if it's some kind of reward he's bestowed upon me for behaving.

"He's on a leash," he says, and I warily push myself up as if I'm carrying a weight that I almost can't lift. All the while, neither of us breaks eye contact.

I stare at him cautiously and he stares at me in amusement.

"Let's not go there," he says to the other person, and I turn away from him to see that the Northern Continent is growing closer and dusk is disappearing over the horizon in a pale green glow that hangs onto the indigo sky.

Clouds travel land-ward from the ocean and spatter themselves across a sky that's full of too many stars to count as they meet and join above the solitary land mass of glacier and frozen earth.

"You're just as much to blame as I am… Okay… Maybe you're not… Though I would say that you are in the least way, indirectly responsible if not fully responsible for the chain of events that took place after the Temple… I only offered to help."

"_Vincent…"_

Lucrecia's voice calls to me all the sudden and a sharp pain runs through my temple before I struggle with the weight of my hand to place it over the pain, "Ah!"

"I'll have to call you back… Valentine's communicating with the dead again…"

I haven't heard her voice for so long, I think. I almost started to think of her as nothing more than a dream or a fading memory…

"_I'm so sorry… You're going to have to—"_

"What?" I ask before my head suddenly starts throbbing in the most malicious way and Lucrecia's voice is cut off while my hands rush to my head and I painfully groan when Genesis supports me from behind by wrapping his arms under mine and across my chest.

"Now, now, Valentine," he urgently says, "I had to cut my meeting short because of you. But I simply can't have you listening to her."

I can hear his breath in my ear. It sounds strange, like it's inside my head and blocking something out as the ship begins to slow and snow from the land starts to blow into the cabin from the window. Then he tells me that if I want the pain to go away that I'm going to have to choose who I'm going to listen to, and I suddenly realize that it's him who's blocking her out.

"She's not the one you can touch," he tells me. "Surely your future fairs better with Tseng, alive and not dead."

"Dog," I dumbly gasp out. "You didn't call him a dog."

I don't really know what I'm getting at though as he pulls me away from the window and drags me to the door, completely ignoring my correction. Instead, all he says is that, "The ship's docking and with this storm coming in from the ocean, it's going to slow us down."

"You down," I correct again. "It's going to slow _you_ down."

"Don't ruin it for yourself. This is your chance to live happily ever after for a change. Isn't that what you want? If you like, maybe we can make him forget who he is so that Rufus doesn't pull the strings anymore. He can be yours without ever worrying about _previous _engagements—"

"What?" I ask, suddenly dumbfounded by the idea. I don't want him to be a mindless companion. I never did. In fact, I'm suddenly realizing that I like him just the way that he is, complications and all, and I suddenly don't want to be dragged into whatever twisted game I'm being dragged into. I don't want to get off of the ship. I don't want to set foot on the Northern Continent, and I grab at the door as he pulls me back and I wonder why he isn't controlling me like he was before.

Instead, he allows me to claw my way back into the cabin as if he wants me to suddenly defy him, and I have no idea why. But then he defies my suspicion when he pushes me and I knock the lamp off the end table when I crash into it. He clenches his teeth while accusing me of ruining everything.

"If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't be in this situation right now. You took him away, Valentine! You hid him from me and it took me _far_ too _long_ to find him before things got out of hand like they're getting now!"

Then he grabs me by the collar and starts to drag me out of the cabin while I fumble with my gun to unhitch it and toss it away from me.

_If I don't have my gu_n, I think, _I can't shoot him with it_.

The dream won't become a reality.

And Genesis laughs, extends his arm as if it belongs to some kind of creature I've never seen before. It's not an arm at all. It's some kind of _thing _that reminds me of a slithering creature as it reaches across the room and wraps itself around the gun to grab it. I haven't felt this horrified and suffocated since the day I woke up in Lucrecia's lab and saw Chaos' hands as my own.

Then he drags me outside and pushes me onto the ground from the deck where I land on my hind-side, and he stays aboard and tosses my gun at me along with an old piece of parchment that's tied with a frayed old string of red thread.

"You're going to need that," he calmly tells me while pointing at the gun. "There are hostile creatures about and without it, you'll have nothing to protect yourself from them, or Tseng."

Then he backs up from the railings on the ship, babying his arm that was something else only moments ago and slowly walks backwards before disappearing into the opposite direction of the exiting crowd as if he has no intention of de-boarding.

No one seems to see either of us and a serene smile softens his angelic face while his eyes never break contact with mine as he fades into the distance. Pale and clear green eyes that resemble the colour Sephiroth's burn their image into my mind and it suddenly hits me that he has no intention of going with me before I quickly pull the string from the parchment and see that it's a map of the area with markings that suggest where he'd like me to go.

"What the hell is going on?" I demand, completely aware of the frantic tone in my voice.

_Why the hell isn't he coming with me?_

There is no answer though, only a deadening quiet as everything falls silent while the people make their way to Icicle Inn in large numbers and I remain in the disturbed snow where I was tossed, still unnoticed, and I pick up my gun, stare at it like it's a foreign object I'd rather not possess, and I take a wary look around into the darkness where no one is going.

I can sense Tseng there, somewhere. I can hear his heartbeat and smell his scent as if I know exactly where he is, and for the first time since I've known him, I'm desperately wishing that I didn't feel so connected to him.


	42. Back Together Again

**Back Together Again**

* * *

I must have been walking for over an hour. The snow falls heavier as I walk further inland toward something that feels familiar and I wonder whether I should be thankful of the fact that I can't feel the cold while I reload my gun and my snow-covered hair falls forward. Genesis was right about my need for it.

He was right about many things, and I wish…

I realize I've never wished before, not since the sunnier days before Nibelheim, before…

But he's right. Genesis was too uncanny when he picked me to pieces and I grit my teeth and fire at another obstacle in my way. There's always another obstacle. One after another and I do as Genesis said I do. I shoot it. I shoot it because I'm designed to do it.

Down it goes, another ice golem, a frozen piece of stone that has no soul, and I think… I think about how right Genesis is, how right Tseng is, and how wrong everything in my life is. I wonder why I'm not like my obstacles, mindless and soulless beings that don't feel, and I enviously wonder if they're feeling emotions while I keep my gun aimed at the motionless creature, walk forward, fire again for good measure and mutter, "Ensuna," to activate the Heal Materia in the barrel of my gun.

It's a tingling sensation that crawls up my arms, my spine, and from within towards the surface, and I collect a Restore materia from its fallen form.

Then I snort at the irony as I place it in my gauntlet. I snort at the fact that I would attempt to cure the confusion spell the golem cast on me, and I snort at the fact that there is nothing in existence that can cure my confusion. There's nothing that can cure what I feel, and soon, it will all be taken away again and I fall to my knees with my hands clasped to the sides of my head and scream out my frustration.

"AAAGGGHHH!"

* * *

I have no idea how long I've been sitting here. There is no sense of time here. Nights are longer than the days and everything looks the same. There's only a metre of visibility in every direction and then everything is nothing but snow, falling snow. But my fingers are starting to ache and I guess it's been 15, maybe 20 minutes… maybe more… and more than two centimetres of snow has fallen on my shoulders to add to the weight.

I could just stay here, I think, like the golem I've collapsed beside. Soon I'll be buried and there'd be no need for a coffin. Never to be found, and my fingers dig deeper into my hair, my head, and they hurt even more.

I tell myself he could be lying… Genesis could be lying…

What he told me was too bizarre and I get back up, check the barrel of my gun, and I start walking again. I think that Tseng may lie, but at least his lies don't hurt.

"_You have nothing to gain over the matter, and so much to lose…"_

* * *

Another mile, maybe two, and a trail of trickplays and jumpings in my wake to show where I've been. They're small squirrel and rabbit-like creatures that never stood a chance. This territory makes them hostile. But at least they're real, unlike the golems and unlike the Snow Witches that stay within the Great Glacier even though I've seen a few of them since I've been here. They've been watching with their frozen eyes from a distance and I wonder if they're not attacking only because they don't consider this their territory.

But then again, that question makes me wonder why they're out here to begin with, watching, following, and silent.

Cid guessed they were clones of some sort, some project that went wrong.

"_Think about it…" _he said. _"They all look alike… That doesn't spell fuckin clone to you?"_

At the time I didn't care. All I wanted was to put a stop to Sephiroth and then go back to sleep. Everything that stood in my way was nothing other than an obstacle between me and him. But now…

It's changed. It's not as black and white any more, and Genesis was right about me not wanting to be alone. Tseng's presence has changed me and I can't help but feel like I've changed him in some ways too.

I keep trying to tell myself that it was him, he enchanted me somehow, and I blamed him. But every time I think back, I can't help but recall the way he tried to get away from me when I raised the bar. He was afraid of letting himself get close to me and he was afraid me getting close to him, and I wonder if Genesis is part of the reason.

"_Then he discarded me… the moment Sephiroth said that he wanted him back…"_

I always assumed it was Sephiroth that was the problem and I may have come by that blame naturally. But I can't help but assume that I've put myself in the middle of something beyond what I ever could have guessed on my own, and I'm not so sure about anything either of them is telling me.

Genesis plays games—I have no doubt about that. But Tseng… I would never guess him to be the type to play games. I only expected lies, and I'm beginning to doubt my own doubt.

Then I stop at the foot of yet another cave. I listen. I wait, and I look up to see another witch. She's watching me and I mind my gun while noting that her hair is like ice and so frozen that it doesn't move. Her skin is so pale and almost as blue as the glaciers. She must have been human at one time—the prototype. She must have been warm. But she is frozen to the core now, inside and out, and a duplicate among duplicates of the _subject_ she once used to be.

She doesn't move. She only watches, and I wonder if she's thinking the same things I'm thinking about her. I wonder if she recognizes that something isn't right about me. Then I wonder if she's even capable of thinking.

Maybe she's the lucky one.

* * *

"_Vincent Valentine is 'dead.' Hahaha."_

"_Hojo!"_

"_Silence! Lucrecia… You know what you've created!"_

* * *

_Created…_

This was my penance for being naïve and I quickly pull out my gun and cock the safety back when a noise from the cave I'm standing in front of breaks me from my thoughts. It could be a number of things, one of the Christopers—more clones. Or it could be a pollensalta, or more witches from another cloned subject. Or maybe I'll just get lucky and meet my death from a tonberry, a native cave dweller of the Northern Continent with a dulled mind. They're empty inside, seemingly innocent, small and insignificant with eyes that tell of no mind. That is, until they get close enough.

One touch and you're dead.

None of those creatures dwell in this part though. They're farther, past the glaciers and into the depths of the frozen heart of the planet, and I lower my head before I inch into the cave. The witch watches, lowers herself to her knees on the ground so she can see better, and stays where she is.

* * *

The deeper I go, the stranger it becomes. The mirror-like surface of ice reflects and refracts like glass, diamonds, crystals…and the air inside grows quiet and still. There's a luminescence and a subtle crackling like fire ahead, and I watch my footing over the slick surface of the ground.

Water ran through here once, smoothing the path out, and maybe other forces of nature as well. Somewhere inside I'm positive that it's him as I inch closer, and I hold my gun near my shoulder, ready for any surprise that may come, be it wanted or unwanted.

And the next corner that I turn, I aim my gun on instinct as another aims at me. Cold eyes, like always, he has…

* * *

"_Your pet is not a healthy pet…"_

"Ah!"

* * *

"_You're going to help me with something, Valentine…" Hojo said._

"_What are you doing?"_

"_Xvan's son needs my help… Look at him…He looks just like his mother…"_

"_What?"_

_Swan?_

* * *

I had no idea what he was talking about. Hojo kept going on about a swan, but I understand now. I understand why he touched the man the way that he did; the way he stroked his hair. I thought it was odd to show love for a subject that went beyond fascination. I just never bothered to care. He injected me with something and I fell asleep, and I never thought about the dark haired man again. He was dead anyway, and now I suddenly realize who he was.

* * *

"Leviathan…" Tseng hisses and lowers his gun before he limps over to me while I crumple to the ground and grab at my head again. "What the hell are you doing here? I nearly shot you."

I suppose I could tell him that some insane lover from his past left me with no choice. But there's an off chance I could be wrong about the 'lover' part. I'd also be lying because the truth is that I wanted to come. I wanted to find him, and like some kind of deranged addict, I snake my hand behind his neck and yank him close the moment he's beside me and smash our mouths together.

Maybe I'm just doing it in hopes that it will help me avoid everything else, and maybe struggling with him helps distract me from the struggle within myself as I smash his wrist into the ground to make him let go of his gun when I push him down while remaining in contact. It doesn't matter if I'm going too far. I'm not even concerned about the consequences as he struggles to breathe and tries to push me off of him after I use my weight to trap him.

He feels alive to me, and I need him to feel alive. I need to feel him move and I need to be convinced that everything Genesis told me was a lie. I'd even settle for Genesis being my own imagination at this point as Tseng's tongue struggles against my own and my mouth muffles the urgent sounds he's trying to make. It's warm and it feels alive. His taste is as I remember it, subtle and sweet from his addiction to sugar, and his attempt to lift me off of him feels human. There's no sign of inhuman strength and I think that maybe I imagined it before.

Maybe I imagined everything.

"KJATA!" I scream, letting go so I can instantly grab at the pain the moment he pulls my gun from my holster and shoots me in the upper leg so that he can get away from me.

"Have you lost your mind?" he hisses once he's at a safe enough distance. It was the perfect opportunity for him to push me off, and he must have grabbed his own gun in my confusion while throwing mine a fair distance from us.

Then he shakes his head like something just hit him and he wipes at his mouth, spits, and suddenly mutters, "Apples… You taste like… apples…" and then he coldly aims his gun at me as if he sees me as a threat and tells me, "I'm about to regret not shooting you when you walked in, aren't I?"

Flat out, he says it, and his eyes grow cold again as he steps back as if I'm the worst enemy he could have come across.

"You were quite the lady's man when you grew up…" he says, and he looks like he's quickly searching his mind for something to say next. "Tell me… What was the name of the first woman you took advantage of?"

"What?" I ask, somewhat grunting at the same time as I hold my hand over the wound and grimace at the pain as it starts to slowly heal on its own. "I never took advantage of anyone."

"Really?" he asks. "That's not how I recall it," and then he smirks at me like he suspects I may be lying a little. "Of course, I'm no woman… Then let me put it this way… What did you tell me about the days when you were handsome and young—about the days when you could have charmed any woman you wanted with that smooth and charismatic air of yours," he demands, and then he releases the safety while I wonder if I'm not the only one that's lost their mind.

"I told you… I was awkward…" I tell him, and he nods like he agrees with what I say and it starts to sink in. He's testing me to see if I'm really me.

* * *

"_Banora has the best apples in the world… The taste lingers… Try one…" Genesis said._

"_I'm not hungry."_

"_Oh, but you must. Even the smallest pleasures in life are not worth passing by."_

* * *

"You have no desire to eat…" Tseng says to himself as if he's trying to figure something out, and then he wipes his mouth again and shakes his head in denial. "One more question… What did you tell me when I told you that I loved you?"

"You never told me you loved me," I hesitantly answer.

"Really?" Tseng suspiciously asks, and then he takes a step back and says, "Not even figuratively?"

_Figuratively…?_

_Kjata…_

* * *

"_I simply cannot, for the life of me, Vince, understand how in the hell I've managed to let myself fall in love with someone as messed up as you."_

* * *

"I… said nothing," I mutter back.

Then I reflect on the fact that he told me he adored me right before things got worse and that it was probably his way of saying it without having to say it and I never said anything back to him either time, and I lower my head to bury my regrets behind my bangs.

"Leviathan…" he mutters, and then he lowers the gun before quickly aiming it at me again the moment I move and warns me to, "Stay where you are," and he hesitates for a moment before adding that, "I can't trust you right now."

I can only guess at what's going through his head and his mistrustful eyes right now, and I watch as his jaw clenches, he shivers, and he limps over to a small fire he must have started so that he can stay warm, and I ask, "Why are you limping?" in hopes of easing the tension between us.

"Koerin and his men are out here," he tells me. "I think they're looking for something."

There's still a slight edge to his voice as he talks, and he kneels down without taking his cautious eyes from me and feels for one of the scattered branches on the ground before tossing it into the fire without looking at it.

"I had a run-in with a few of them and didn't see the windwing coming."

I nod to his response and follow the form of his leg and the torn cloth he has wrapped around it. It's stained with blood and I wonder if he tore it from one of Koerin's men since his clothes appear to be intact except for the tear where his wound is.

"I managed to fight it off," he quietly adds. "Though I have no idea how… Luck, I suppose."

"Luck…" I repeat, and I reflect on everything Genesis told me.

"Mm," he mutters and gives a short nod to confirm it as if he's confirming it to himself. Then he shyly smiles and says, "I lost my gun when it struck me and it took me a while to find it before I no longer had the chance… Then I ran out of Potions," and he motions his free hand to his makeshift dressing.

"Are you all right?"

"I've been worse," he answers, and warns me with a more aggressive aim on his gun when I attempt to move again before he curiously asks me, "How did you find me?"

_I didn't want to,_ I think, and then I return his cautious attention with a slight exposure to the regret in my eyes and regretfully tell him that, "I ran into someone."

"Genesis," he guesses. Then he nods again while muttering, "I suppose that means he's alive."

After that, he wipes at his mouth and licks his lips in distaste as if the flavour of apples gave it away already. But I think, _I never took what he offered_, and then I inwardly shudder when I think about how he grabbed me in the cavern and sealed his mouth to mine so he could invade my body and I suddenly realize that there was a sweet taste in my mouth that wouldn't go away after that.

I didn't give it much thought until now though, and I start to feel slightly ill over the thought.

"What is he to you?" I finally ask. It had been gnawing away at me since the start and I can't help the slight accusation that carries in my voice.

"An old nemesis," he answers. Then he finally turns his attention away from me as if he's starting to feel a little more comfortable with my presence and he stokes the fire.

"He told me some things."

"Lies, mostly," Tseng tiredly says, and he puts his gun down and pulls out a knife that he holds over the fire to heat it.

"Are they?" I ask, and I painfully get up to come to him when he finally motions me to, and he says, "Yes." Then he points to a spot a fair distance from him on the other side of the fire to suggest that he'd like me to sit there.

"How can you be so certain when I haven't told you what he said?"

"Because I know what Genesis would say," he tells me, and then he sighs, removes the knife from the fire and comes to sit by my side. "This is going to hurt but that bullet needs to come out."

Then he cautiously regards me again, grabs one of the branches from the ground and pushes it into my mouth while telling me to bite down, and he wastes no time at getting the bullet out while I painfully grunt and curse at him through the branch before the fresh wound begins to heal. He couldn't hear what I was saying though, and for the first time that I can recall, he quietly apologizes.

"I never wanted to drag you into this," he says and he keeps his head down like he doesn't want to look at me all the sudden, and he barely mutters that, "I honestly thought… _hoped_ that it was over. But I suppose a part of me always knew."

"Knew what?"

"That he wasn't gone," he tells me, and then he tenses his jaw and lightly runs his cold fingers over the wound on my thigh. "I could never shake the feeling… Like he was close, somehow… I could never stop glancing over my shoulder…"

"That's why you were so heavily armed," I suddenly realize.

I figured it was just the way that he was when I first met him but it never ceased to strike me as odd. And my attention grows more curious as I start to study him in a new light and he subtly nods while keeping his head down as his faint touch starts circling the outside of the wound.

"Is that why you try to shut everyone out?"

"Partly," he quietly admits, and then he shakes his head and pulls his hand away as if he'd suddenly touched something that burned him and he changes the subject with more of a statement instead of a question. "He told you about Hojo, didn't he?"

"He told me some things," I say, and he nods again.

"He tried to tell me that I was infected," he says, and then he shakes his head and frowns. "But he tends to twist the truth, and when he told me some crazy story about Hojo and my mother… Well, I find it a little hard to believe anything he'd say."

Then he lets out a heavy sigh and gets up while motioning to my gauntlet.

"You've got Restore materia. You should probably use it now."

"What about you?" I ask as I watch him limp over to the fire and toss another branch onto it.

"I'm fine," he mutters, and then he shivers and sits opposite to me again and I frown over his stubbornness. "I have an All Materia… I can pair it with—"

"I said I'm fine!" he sharply repeats, and then he angrily pokes at the fire with a charred stick and sighs again while brushing his hair back like he's frustrated over something.

"Okay," I slowly say.

Then I watch him for a moment more and think again about everything Genesis told me, and I think about how Chaos saw Tseng when we were in the cavern. It could have been my imagination—the glow of Jenova. But I'm not so sure who the real liar is anymore. I'm not even sure about what I'm willing to believe anymore before I suddenly realize that I'm starting to believe all of it.

Then I openly conclude that, "You never wanted me to come with you… here… Did you?"

"For Leviathan's sake," he agitatedly mutters, and then he gets up and winces over the pain in his leg as he does it and he storms over to me and tears the Restore materia from my gauntlet before I have a chance to react.

After that, he quickly places it in his own gun and calls out, "Cure," to me and I let out an unexpected growl from the healing effects of my flesh healing too fast to be natural.

"You're right, Vince," he angrily says, and he rips the materia back out of his gun and throws it back at me. "I never wanted you to come. But here you are."

"Here I am," I uneasily say and I set my attention back to his leg and wonder what he's not telling me.

Then he paces and winces as he does so, and I contemplate just using the damn materia on him like he did with me. But something inside of me hesitates.

"But then again, there are a lot of things I never wanted," he says.

"Like what?"

"You," he pointedly states. Then he stops and glares at me like I did something wrong and he adds, "Me…

"But I can't change those things… just as much as you can't."

He starts to pace again and continues to wince while I quietly put the materia back into my gauntlet and let out a habitual sigh. Then he surprises me and says, "I know he sent you."

"Kjata."

"Yes. So tell me…"

With each step and word, he becomes more edgy and accusatory. Then he stops and looks at me with those charcoal eyes that don't seem as hard as they usually do.

Instead, they look more pleading and something inside of me tightens while he continues to stare at me and he thoughtfully strokes his gun with his forefinger of the hand he's holding it with. He hasn't let go of it since he reclaimed it and he carefully places his finger back on the trigger to state that he still doesn't trust me.

What makes it worse though, is the fact that I'm not sure if he can either, and what he says next almost burns.

"Which one of us gets to leave alive?"

"I'm not your enemy," I mutter, and then I add as I get up with a sense of defeat, "Nor am I your executioner."

After that, I resign to whatever it is I'm doing and I walk passed him, stopping beside him long enough to tell him that, "I'll leave that part to you," and I figure it's time to leave the miserable bastard to his own demise and I pick up my gun and put it back in my holster.

But the truth is that I'm more afraid of what I might do to him and the concern over it makes me shake relentlessly inside over the fact that it's starting to feel like it's inevitable even though I have no idea what the real reason is, and he laughs as I head for the way in which I came.

He almost sounds like he's gone mad before he hisses in what sounds like a great deal of pain, drops his gun, and doubles over.

"Kjata," I grumble in a combination of anger, frustration, concern, and maybe even a little bit of fear the moment I turn around and see him grabbing at his leg as if it's the cause of his pain. He's dropped his gun and he's nearly writhing from whatever agony he's feeling, and like the brain-dead pushover that I am, I find myself rushing to him to gather him up while asking him, "What! What's wrong?"

"He was a virgin," he grunts out, and I pull my gauntlet taut with my teeth before shouting out, "Cure!" and he madly laughs out, "I had no idea," before he screams and his fingers tense over the wound on his leg, and the moment I go to inspect it, he violently pushes me away and quickly rolls to his gun and grabs it again so he can aim it at me as if he's serious about him wanting me to leave.

Then he adds with a twisted grin and stares at me in a feral way through loose strands of hair that cover his mad-looking eyes and justifies himself in whatever twisted thoughts are going through his head, "_He_ came onto _me_…

"And I thought…" he starts while he scrunches his shoulders as if he's loosening a knot in his neck. Then he laughs a wicked and mocking laugh like Sephiroth's and adds, "I thought…Why not?"

After that, he licks his lips like an animal.

"I lost, Vince. I lost _everything…_ And then… And then, this little _bastard_ picks a fight with me, and he… He nearly _kills _me, and then he kisses me… Hehehe… What are the odds of that…? Seriously?"

"Tseng…" I calmly say, and I raise my hands to show I'm no threat as I carefully lift my knee so that I can get up without giving him any reason to pull the trigger, and his eyes quickly dart to the map tied to my belt and his gaze grows as curious as a cat that's caught something in its path.

"Well," he wryly says and sneers as he tilts his head so that more of his hair falls into his eyes that are taking on a strange glint that reminds me of the silvery flashes I saw in his eyes when I first met him.

It happened so often that I stopped noticing it and paid it no mind. I assumed it was nothing more than an impish twinkle.

"It was never anything more to me than a mindless fuck… A little something to take my mind off of how humiliated I felt…"

His words trail off more and he blinks a couple of times while still staring at the map with that strange shine to his eyes as if it's distracting him too much, and he completely coins his behaviour and curiously asks in a disturbingly calm manner, "Where did you get that?"

"It's a map," I dumbly answer while I carefully stand and step back in hopes of not setting off any alarms.

"I _know_ what it is," he says, and then he shakes his head and he lowers his gun. "It's Rufus'… What I want to know is _where _did you get it?"

Then he stands and brushes his hair back as if the strange behaviour he was just exhibiting never happened, "And maybe, perhaps, why _you_ have it."

"Rufus?" I ask, and then I stupidly look down at it while still keeping my hands raised.

"Yes," he answers and messily holsters his gun into the back of his pants. "Shinra repossessed a base out here and that was the only map that led to it. We destroyed it," he adds, and he limps up to me and yanks it from my belt while muttering, "I gave the orders."

"Are you sure?"

"I sent three bombers over that base and watched the explosions from Gaea's Cliff."

Then he opens it and mutters, "We even sent a hazard crew in to clean up the mess… Of course I'm sure."

"Genesis gave it to me."

"Why?"

"He said I'd need it," I carefully tell him and lower my attention back to his leg and wonder why he's still limping while thinking about what else Genesis said I'd need.

"Need it for what?"

"He didn't say."

"That doesn't make any sense," he mutters, and then he turns his back to me and limps back over to the fire so he can see it in better light while musing that the markings are in Genesis' writing, and that the location of the base is what is clearly marked.

"Why would he want us to go there?"

"I don't know," I say while wondering why it's suddenly 'us' now, when a moment ago he was acting like a possessed maniac that wanted me to get as far away from him as I possibly could, and then I cautiously walk toward him and stand behind him while watching him adjust the map. "Would it be possible for someone to rebuild it?"

"No," he answers, and he moves over when I take the chance to sit beside him. Then he swats my hand away when I take a greater chance to pull the dressing from his leg.

"Don't," he sharply says before he mutters, "there wouldn't be enough time to rebuild it. We destroyed it only a couple of years ago."

"Maybe…" I hesitantly say, and I watch him from the side and note that his analytical gaze appears normal. His eyes are back to the deep brown that they normally are, and I question how much of what just happened was imagined on my part. "Maybe there's something else there."

"Like what?"

"I don't know."

"Well," he says, and then he lets out a shaky sigh and sets his focus on the fire, "I guess there's only one way to find out."

* * *

He's like a different person all the sudden, and he decides that the weather won't allow us to travel at night.

"That storm probably won't subside until morning," he says, and then he sighs out that, "We'll just have to go in the morning," and when I ask him if he's sure he wants me to go with him, he leans forward and gazes into the fire while stating that I might as well.

"You're here," he says, and he doubts I'll go away.

I doubt it too.

But at the same time, a part of me was hoping that he'd go a little crazy again, and then maybe he could successfully drive me away for his own good.

He doesn't though, and for the rest of the night, we sit beside each other and we talk. He confirms everything that Genesis said to me, but he also says that Genesis spins truths—much like Tseng, I assume, and I find it difficult to take my mind away from his leg and the fact that Genesis is probably out there. Maybe he's even closer than I'd like to think when I think about the way that Tseng writhed in pain over his leg.

Or maybe it was something else, and the thought of Genesis using his materia on Tseng again causes knots in my gut. The fact that Tseng paled at the mention of it and said he wasn't even sure if it was possible causes even more doubt. Though I'm not sure about which one of them I'm doubting, and I ask him about Genesis using it on him in…

_Modeoheim? Was it?_

He says that Genesis did something, but he wasn't entirely sure if it was summon materia. He says a lot happened that day and that most of it was a blur. But he confirms the reason he and Genesis became arch nemeses though. He just tells me something different from what I initially thought.

He says it was him. He says that when Genesis showed him the pictures of Sephiroth that he went off the deep end, and since Genesis was offering himself… Well, Tseng says that he took advantage of him. He was unaware that Genesis always liked him up to that point. He says that he just assumed it was only because he was with Sephiroth and that he thought Genesis was being an opportunist. But later, he realized that his assumptions were wrong.

He also tells me that it probably didn't help matters that he and Genesis were together for almost half a year. He just assumed it wasn't serious and that he was too wrapped up in his work and his own problems that he just didn't notice. But when he and Sephiroth got back together, he realized that Genesis was a bigger mistake than he could have imagined.

"He went off the deep end," he tells me, and then he tells me that he never would have expected it. He also tells me that he didn't know that he was Genesis' first until it was too late.

"I should have called it off then," he says—the moment he realized that Genesis had never been with anyone before, neither man nor woman.

"My gut instincts said it was a mistake… But I… Well… We had already started…"

So he finished what he started that night and made what he calls one of the biggest mistakes he thinks he might have ever made. And when I ask him if he was ever concerned about sleeping with him, or even Sephiroth after he realized what their fates were, he admits that the thought crossed his mind. But he also reasons that it's not possible. However, he still wonders and he admits that it was the real reason he never finished what he started with me, or even with Rufus.

He says the thought of the possibility of being infected with Jenova and possibly spreading it eats away at him even though he doubts it.

"I felt like I was losing my mind," he tells me, and then he looks at me and tilts his head. "I wasn't sure if I could cope with any of it."

Then he straightens out his wounded leg and points out while he mutters that he's sure there would have been signs by now if any of it were true or possible. "Don't you think?"

"Mm," I mutter, and I think about how I think I've been seeing some of the signs and stay silent about it. Instead, I only ask, "What would you do if there were signs?"

"I think death would be a better option," he says, and I quietly nod again and stare at his leg again. "But first, I think I'd want to be sure."

"Is that why you came here?" I ask, and I muse over the bread crumbs that are laid out for both of us, and he nods in answer.

"If what Genesis says is true…" he starts, "and Hojo was able to keep me stable, or even if Genesis was doing it… Then wouldn't it be worth my while to seek a better fate?"

I know I would have, and I lower my head before I pull him closer to me so that he can lean into me and I brush his shoulder with my thumb. I don't say what's on my mind though. Instead, I think about my dreams and wonder how many 'possibilities' exist for him, and I wonder if there are any while he closes his eyes as if he's exhausted. Then I look again at his leg and wonder what it is that he's hiding before I wonder about how much of it he's hiding from himself.

* * *

When the morning comes, he wakes up and yawns. Then he quizzically looks at the fire and concludes that I didn't sleep before he pushes himself out of my arms to grab some food from his bag.

He's right. There's too much on my mind to allow me to sleep, and a part of me wanted to watch over him for both our sakes. Then, as I watch him open the freeze-dried packets and start eating, I realize that I partially envy his denial. It's almost innocent in its cowardice and I lean forward to wipe a crumb from his chin with a gloved finger before he bats it away and then shyly smiles.

I can only wish to smile at this point, and I find myself staring at him and realizing that he's always had a sheepish way about him when he smiles. He usually curls his finger over his mouth when he laughs. He always appears to repress most of it for fear of giving something away, and when he doesn't cover his mouth, he makes every effort to keep his mouth shut, and I wonder if it's because his teeth are slightly crooked.

I never really thought about it before, but when I think about how insecure he is over his body now that it's been ravished, I begin to wonder exactly how hard it is for him to deal with his own imperfections. Then a part of me regretfully wonders if Sephiroth was attracted to him for the same reasons I think I might be.

His stubborn will is a challenge, despite the conflicts that arise. His temper is dangerous and exciting, as it is equally frustrating, and his courage is a strong mask for his fears. His insults, as humbling as they are, are degrading and condescending. His repressed sexuality is raw and refreshing when he lets it go. And to top it off, he's as insecure as he is confident, and he spends as much time hiding his imperfections as he does grooming himself into an image of perfection.

There's a part of me that breaks a little though, and it's the part of me that knows I never would have noticed these things had I still been human. I never would have given him a second glance. I even regret that I would have chosen to dislike him for no other reason than a deep-seated homophobia—had I known or suspected—and I shamefully look down as he gets up and brushes off his knees with no knowledge of the things I'm thinking of.

Time has changed me though, and it doesn't change the fact that men like Sephiroth and Genesis saw him first. Even with everything that they were and weren't, they both fell in love with him and I wonder if it's for any of the same reasons I did, or was it simply lust?

He is a handsome man, maybe even beautiful in his own right. He has that touch of an exotic nationality that's offset by something else, and it leaves him with an uncommon appearance that causes people to take a second look. He's not stunning though, he's just attractive in a way that makes him seem like he's from a different time and place, and I watch him go back to his bag to pull out a heavier jacket before he stops and curiously regards me before I note, "You're not limping today."

"No," he answers, and then he quirks his finely sculptured brow like he wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't pointed it out. "I guess I'm not."

Then he turns from my view and checks his leg with a relieved sigh that catches my own curious attention.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," he mutters, and then he pulls the dressing off to reveal a torn pant-leg and deeply reddened marks hiding underneath. It's already turning purple from heavy bruising and I can see the reddened claw marks from the windwing he told me about, and I almost feel relieved that he was telling me the truth and that I was worrying over nothing.

Then he goes back over to his bag and pulls out a pair of black slacks that look like they could pass as part of his Turk's uniform while quietly stating that, "I've never healed properly since the remnants… that Restore materia's been a gamble ever since. Most of the time it does more damage than good."

I guess that's why he carries the potions all the sudden, and I find one more thing to feel guilty about. I'm surprised that it took me this long to realize it though, and I suddenly wonder if that feral streak he showed last night didn't have something to do more with a memory regarding what the remnants did to him rather than assumptions brought on by Genesis' stories, and maybe he just snapped because of it.

After that, he gives one quick flick to the pants to shake them out, and he starts to undo his buckle before he shyly turns away from me and explains that, "I figured there was no point in dirtying the only other pair I have until this wound stopped bleeding."

_Of course not, _I think, and then I turn away to give him that false sense of security over his appearance that he can't come to terms with and he quickly kicks off his shoes rubs his hands together to try to tough out the cold, and then he quickly changes so that we can do as Genesis wanted.

And I know deep down inside that I'm letting him walk into a trap, and that I'm not making any attempt to stop it.


	43. No More Choices Left

**No More Choices Left**

* * *

When we reached the entrance of the cave, Tseng stopped and adjusted his bag over his shoulder. Then he quickly pecked me on the cheek as if it were an awkward action for him and looked me up and down before quietly muttering, "To be truthful, Vince, you don't look like a mangy animal."

After that, he stiffened up, regarded the sparsely clouded skies, and he started walking while I stood there for a moment and snorted before I almost smirked. I assumed it was his way of complimenting me, and I kept my pace behind him while something continually tugged at my insides. Something was eating away at me and it almost felt like it was because he wasn't sure if he'd ever get the chance to do or say any of it again.

* * *

The snow was deep, up to our knees as we laboriously made our way on foot to the rocky hills where Tseng figured passage would be safer and easier.

"The snow isn't as deep and it would be harder for Koerin's men to find or track us up there," is what he told me, and I nodded in agreement while noting his clenched teeth and the condensed air he breathed out with every breath.

He must have been cold, I assumed, but it was too late to turn back now and he was too stubborn to let me talk him out of it anyway.

As we travelled, the witches made their appearances in the distance again and just like before, they made no attempt to trigger any hostility and I caught myself frowning over the uneasiness it was stirring inside of me.

"Sara-Ann," Tseng muttered and looked down as if to purposefully ignore their presence. "They won't harm us."

"What?"

"That was her name," he said, and he motioned his slightly shaky hand to one of the witches. "She was a young girl—in terrible shape. I found her when I was in my early twenties after she'd escaped from a lab near Modeoheim."

"The Snow Witches?" I asked, and he nodded.

"She begged me to kill her," he said, and then he nodded in justification before adding that. "So I did… I put a bullet between her eyes."

Then he quickened his pace and grabbed my arm so he could quickly pull me into one of the crevices of the rock wall and he sits down with his hands curled into his chest as if he suddenly can't stand.

"Sara-Ann…" he mutters again. "I was ordered to bring her to Shinra from the Slums when she was a young girl… I had no idea they were going to experiment on her and create clones of the results."

"Kjata…"

"Mm," he mutters, and then he stares off into space for a moment before he rubs his hands together and notions that he's ready to continue as we step back out into the bitter air again.

He does it a few more times—pulling me into crevices and concave structures—and it takes me a while before I realize that he's doing it to warm himself up. All the while, he tells me that the witches established some kind of bond with him after that.

"I don't really know why… They're just always around when I'm in this area."

"You're not afraid of them?"

"They've never given me a reason to be afraid," he says, and we duck into a small cavern to quickly warm up again. "In fact, they quickly tended to me after I had a run-in with Genesis."

Then he nervously snickers out, "I doubt he used summon materia on me though… Well, either way, they've saved my life on several occasions."

"I see," I mutter, and I warily watch him while biting my tongue as he pulls the map out to check over it again, and then he urges me to follow him again while I constantly ask myself why I'm not stopping him from this insane quest of his.

* * *

We must have walked for miles until we finally approached the Great Glacier. It's a vast land of solid ice and the sky is disturbingly clear overhead. Though heavy grey clouds loom over the horizon and the surrounding mountains, and I catch myself frowning at the threat of another approaching storm. I remember the last time I came here. It was with Cloud and the others and the weather was treacherous. We needed to place markers in the ground to help us avoid getting lost since the snow was so thick that we couldn't see beyond half a metre.

But this day, we can see for miles on end and I find myself awed by the threatening beauty of our hostile surroundings. I'm also slightly on edge due to the growing number of witches coming into plain sight to simply stand and watch us, and I instinctively reach for the handle of my gun.

"Pay them no mind," Tseng says, and he places his hand on my arm to let me know that he doesn't want me to show any hostility. He does it without having to look at me to know what I'm doing or thinking. "If you give them no reason, they'll stay where they are."

_Easy for him to say_, I think, and I reflect on how they attacked us every chance they got when I was here with Avalanche all those years ago. But I'm not with Avalanche this time around. Instead, I'm with someone that stirs more curiosity in me than I ever thought possible and as we get closer to our destination, a large building begins to fall into our view and Tseng seems to grow tense and clenches his jaw.

Then he mutters in a barely audible tone that, "It's not possible," and his pace quickens while he reaches behind and drags me by my sleeve to pull me along with him.

"What…? What is it?"

"It's the damned base," he says as a sharp edge overshadows his voice. "We destroyed the damned thing… I was _right _there!" he insists as he quickly points to the high cliffs in the distance. "I watched!"

"Are you sure this is the same one?" I ask, and his pace quickens even more while he shakes his head.

"I don't make mistakes, Vincent," he curtly tells me. Then he mutters, "This isn't possible," and abruptly stops so he can pull out the map and study it while frowning and biting on his bottom lip. "I clearly remember what I did."

"You're sure no one could have rebuilt it?"

"Are you blind? You can't see the sheer size of that place?"

"No… I'm just saying that—"

"I know what the hell you're saying, Vincent."

"Vince," I mutter as he folds the map back up and daftly stares at me.

"I know your damned name!"

Then he wipes at his upper lip as if he's breaking into a sudden sweat and he blankly stares through me while I stand there without knowing what to say or do to help.

"Nonono…" he finally mutters with a strong sense of denial and shakes his finger at me before he quickly points it to the building behind him without bothering to look at it. "That building is too damned big to have been rebuilt in that short of a time."

"Maybe it was only made to look like it," I suggest and await another verbal outburst.

"You mean it's empty?" he suddenly asks as if the thought never crossed his mind and it makes enough sense to him that he could happily live with that explanation, "Like a prop?"

"Maybe."

Then he turns around and stares at it while the wind starts to pick up. It blows his hair into his eyes and he ignores it.

"Well," he mutters, and then he puts the map into his coat pocket and quirks his brow. "I guess there's only one way to find out."

* * *

A part of me wishes he never said what he said as we continue on our journey toward the mysterious building. It's concrete—a dark, dull grey with signs of damage from weather as if it's been standing for too many decades and there's something familiar about it that stirs a strange discomfort inside. On the outside, there are area lights placed more than a metre apart and several metres from the ground. They're bright enough to light the grounds that are surrounded by a high concrete wall with barbed wire coiled along the top. Most of it's falling apart now.

As we approach, Tseng leads the way to a rusted iron gate on broken hinges. It's wide open and there's an old security camera that looks like it hasn't been in use for years. The camera's support is bent and rusted and the lens is cracked and frosted over. The place looks like it was a solid fortress at one time.

Yet it's wide open and barren now, and I take a moment to look around while Tseng cautiously studies the entrance and I note that the witches have moved closer and grown in their numbers.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" I cautiously ask, and Tseng nods while stating that, "There's no going back now," and he takes the first step onto the grounds while readying his gun as if he's as uneasy as I am. Then he removes one of his hands from his gun and rubs at his temple like he's developing a headache before he returns both hands to his gun to keep it steady.

At any moment, I'm expecting something to happen as I follow his lead by keeping my hand close to my gun in case I need it. I don't know what either of us is expecting, but I know I wouldn't be surprised if Genesis suddenly showed up, or the Witches suddenly decided to attack without warning.

Nothing happens though, and as we approach the main entrance to the building that is secured by another iron door, Tseng lightly taps on my arm to get me to follow his gaze to another security camera.

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" he asks, and then he returns both hands to his gun again and continues to stare at the camera that looks as if it's been newly installed, and it moves to focus its attention on us.

"It's working," I lowly growl, and he nods before he slowly looks at me and then looks at the security panel on the other side of the door. It's a retinal scanner and it's fully operational.

"Do you still think it's empty?"

_I have no idea,_ I think to myself as I step closer to the panel on the scanner to study it and it slides open, and before I have a chance to react, a laser runs across my face and I literally freeze while Tseng tensely asks, "What the hell are you doing?"

Then a female recorded voice speaks, "Welcome. Vincent. Valentine," and a loud mechanical whine pierces our ears before Tseng quizzically looks at me and I dumbly shrug.

"You know this place?"

"No," I answer.

"Well, it seems to know you," he accusingly points out, and then he holds his gun more securely while regarding me with mistrustful eyes and steps back the moment the reinforced steel doors begin to open as if they haven't been opened for decades.

After that, we both stand there and stare into the darkness as lights slowly begin to turn themselves on as if they're automated, and Tseng turns to regard me warily again, hesitating as if he might be having second thoughts all the sudden.

I don't blame him for the way he's looking at me though. I'm beginning to wonder how much he can trust me too, and I wind up stating that I think I recall my father running a lab in the North when I was a child, but that was far too long ago for me to recall correctly and this place doesn't strike me as familiar while Tseng points out that he was told the place was a base.

"Not a lab," he says.

I merely shrug again and hope that he believes me while I convince myself that I'm positive I'd remember a place like this as he takes his first hesitant step forward and warns me, "So help me, Vince… If Genesis has gotten to you—"

"I think I'd know!"

"Very well," he states, and then he nods in the direction down the hall and cautiously glances sideways at me. "I suppose there isn't much I could do about it now anyway."

_Bastard,_ I think, and I follow his lead as we carefully walk down the hall in as quiet a manner as we can. Both of us have our guns ready and I think he may be as nervous as me when my nerves cause me to jump at the sound of the heavy door closing behind us.

* * *

As we walk a little farther, Tseng suddenly stops and grows paler as if he recognizes something about the place. Then he takes a look around him and dances his eyes across the closed doors on both sides of us that run the length of the hall before he confusedly states that, "I think I know this place," and then he runs his cautious eyes over me before he turns back to the way in which we came and whispers, "I don't think I want to be here…"

_Kjata…_

I'd offer to turn back but I don't think it's an option either of us has. So instead, I step closer to him to remind him that I'm here for him, and I realize that it's probably not the most comforting thought when I think about the fact that he could possibly be right about Genesis 'getting to me.'

And before I have the chance to say anything, he quickly starts walking as if he suddenly knows where he's going. Then he turns another corner, and another one, and by the time I think I can catch up, I've lost him.

"Tseng?" I call out, unable to hide the slight urgency in my voice as it echoes down the empty halls, and I regard the maze before me and anxiously call out again, "Tseng! Where are you?"

He doesn't answer though.

* * *

Nearly every door I check is locked. Almost none of them opens except for the odd small office that seems to be deserted, or a closet that he obviously hasn't been to, and panic begins to grow at a rate in which I can't stand.

"Tseng!"

Still no answer, and I stand in the middle of another hallway while coming to the conclusion that I'm lost, and I try to calm myself down while telling myself that I'll never find him if I can't focus. A few minutes have passed, maybe more, and I start to run down hall after hall with the sound of my armoured boots echoing against the dark grey floor as I do so. Each turn looks the same. There are doors lined down every hall and all of them are locked except for ones that lead to more empty offices and endless closets, and I wonder with a sense of futility, _How many damned closets does one place need?_

_Kjata…_

"Tseng!"

He still doesn't answer, and for the first time since I awoke in the mansion, I curse at myself for not owning a damned watch. Has it been an hour yet? More by now? How far into the bowels of this accursed place have I gone? Am I lost? Is he lost?

_Kjata…_

If only I didn't care so much about him. Then maybe the urgency and lack of knowing wouldn't have embedded itself so deeply and I wind up attempting to backtrack and end up more lost than I think I was to begin with.

_So help me if… No—Don't think like that…_

By the time I'm about to give up, I find myself standing in the middle of another hallway and just listening. I should have done that first, I think, and the sound of a subtle whirring of a machine or a computer catches my attention. Only this time, I don't call out his name for fear that I'll simply create another false hope for myself.

Instead, I follow the sound until I quietly approach an opened door and stop outside of it long enough to hear the subtle sound of a soft sigh.

Then I ready my gun on the off chance that I'll run into something I'm not prepared to run into, and I quietly step through the entrance.

* * *

"Tseng?" I quietly ask as I take another step forward and he just stands there. His back is to me and he's not moving. He's just standing, looking down at a terminal with scattered papers placed over the keyboard. And I take a quick look around and see the filing cabinet he must have ransacked and frown at the files on the floor—all with his name on it.

"Koerin was right."

The dead tone to his voice reflects resignation and I turn my attention back to him and watch as he continues to do nothing. His hands are spread apart and resting on the console and his hair is loosely tied back, and for a moment, I wonder where he got the elastic from before I give my head a shake to focus on more important matters when he starts to disturbingly laugh.

Then he pulls the elastic out of his hair, ripping his hair out along with it before his laughter turns to the sound of torment, "And so was Genesis… about everything…"

_Kjata…_ I think, and I take a step toward him while noting that there's a room beyond the glass wall in front of him. It looks like the one I saw in a dream—the one he awoke in before someone snuck up behind him.

"DON'T COME NEAR ME!"

And I stop while he throws the papers from the console toward me without turning around and places his hands back on the console as if he'd never moved.

"What does it make me?"

_I don't know,_ I think, and I look down at a number of papers. The older ones are signed off by Dr. Crescent and Dr. Valentine—Lucrecia and my father—and the newer ones are by Hojo, along with a few that are more recent with nothing more than an 'S' written on them, and above the newer signature, approval for Tseng Kisaragi has been clearly marked.

"Kisaragi?" I mutter, almost low enough to not be heard.

_Yuffi?_

"My mother was from a prominent family," he bitterly mutters back. "Godo Kisaragi's disowned sister. She was the eldest. Aunt to Yuffi Kisaragi—you know her—the young _thief_ and _tramp_ of Wutai."

"He was the leader of Wutai," I mindlessly mutter, and I think I'm beginning to understand a small number of his inner demons.

His mother was brutalized and exiled, and from what I've gathered from the small pieces he shares from time to time, his childhood was far from ideal and he even went so far as to hide that fact from his mother, and all the while, his own cousin is a well-known thief, turncoat, and whatever else Tseng happens to know about her, and she has been honoured by the same people that turned their backs on a woman whose circumstances went beyond her control.

She may even be the only woman alive that is capable of making Tseng feel shame for the need to protect her from the facts of how disappointing he must feel he is to her, and I bend down to pick up one of the older pieces of paper to quickly skim over it while he laughs indignantly at himself.

"I…"

I don't know what to say as I stop skimming and focus on the part of the paper that states that Grimoire Valentine came across a legion of elder Gods that were locked in mako prisons by their rivals during the days before the Ancients. They were believed to be destroyers of civilizations—Chaos, Destruction, Disorder, Omega, and a fifth one that my father and Lucrecia couldn't find a name for. It was a shape-shifter that enchanted Chaos and made its existence even more chaotic by playing both sides.

It was a member of the Bahamut family—the gods of fire, energy, armour, and sheer strength, and it was the first and only one to sacrifice itself to its own prison for unknown reasons.

Above its description, Hojo had written a small note:

* * *

_The safest one? Tseng must survive—Use the summon Materia._

_Studies from Vincent should prove useful. His spinal fluid is proving to be the key._

* * *

It's a plan to create a biological weapon and to control it with summon materia. My father had hidden the papers in hopes that his discovery would never be misused. Only from what I gather, Hojo had found them and turned the project around to suit his own, more secretive purposes as I pick up more pieces of paper and skim over them. They're all covered with notes that are hand-written by Hojo and how he thinks he can use it to save the life of a Turk that was poisoned in a mako refinery incident back in Nibelheim.

* * *

_How can he be infected? He was never approved for the Jenova experiments._

* * *

Even Hojo had no idea how it had happened. When he ran tests on Tseng, he discovered that Tseng was mutating from the same cells that he used to enhance his own son—Sephiroth—just like Genesis said. Only Tseng was reacting to the cells in an uncommon, unstable, and unchartered way and fusing with them at an alarming rate.

He suspected that his colleague, Dr. Hollander was involved but he couldn't understand why he'd go behind his back to conduct an experiment on a man that…

* * *

_I did everything to protect him._

* * *

The later notes focus more on the fact that Hojo suspected that Sephiroth had gone against his advice and courted the Turk. But he's angrier at Sephiroth than he is at Tseng. He even goes so far as to express his disappointment over the matter and that he's disgusted that Sephiroth would even consider going after a married man.

* * *

_I told him to stay away from him. But Sephiroth… He never listens._

_He's too much like Lucrecia when it comes to such matters._

* * *

Attached to the paper is another note, a separate one where Hojo wrote that he confronted Dr. Hollander over the matter and wanted to know why he'd done it. Infecting a Turk went beyond madness, and I catch myself unconsciously sneering over his own words while I try to brush it off and read on only to discover that Hollander was as much in the dark about it as Hojo was. Neither of them knew how it was possible and neither of them knew of anyone else that could have known about the original project.

* * *

_Sabotage? But who? And why the Turk?_

_The only one close enough to him is Sephiroth. But he doesn't know what he is._

_Does he?_

_His wife and child…_

* * *

"He murdered them," Tseng flatly says, and his knuckles grow white as he grips onto the console while I quietly regard him. "My wife… My _daughter…_ All this time I thought it was my fault."

I merely nod and return to the papers, unable to come up with anything to say that could improve an already dire situation.

Best to say nothing, I suppose.

The rest of the papers are signed with the mysterious 'S.' They are approving the use of genocide on the subject—a complete destruction and reconstruction of his cells from cloned matter from healthier samples. It's a blueprint of theories on how to stop the mutations caused by the 'S' cells that Sephiroth was infected with and the 'G' cells that were believed to have destroyed Genesis on a massive molecular level, and they're all based on Hojo's findings from the refinery incident.

* * *

_The subject must be stopped and restarted._

_The cells must die before healthier ones can be reintroduced._

_I was able to clone them from previous samples before this matter got out of hand._

* * *

More of Hojo's handwriting and the reason he suffocated Tseng to begin with. It's as Genesis said. He killed the Turk to stop the mutations. It was the only way to stop it but he couldn't leave him dead because of…

* * *

_He has to die—It should be permanent. There's no guarantee he won't revert._

_But… Xvan…_

_Shinra would surely conduct an autopsy._

_I can't take her son away. No matter how much I despise the abomination that he is._

_Xvan._

* * *

Her name is written all over the last couple of notes as if madness had been the very hand that wrote it there.

_Kjata…_

When I look up, Tseng is still standing with his back to me. His hands are still spread out as if he hasn't moved the entire time, and he stares at the glass in front of him. His reflection is as cold and sleek as the surface he stares through. It's also as empty as the room he stares into and I consider the fact that he may have already mentally left from the inability to deal with the impact of what he's found.

"Am I…?" he emptily starts as I slowly stand and watch him, "Going to be like them…?"

"I don't know," I answer, and I watch as the wheels turn and I can only imagine what he's thinking.

"The subject was a mess."

"I…" stop in dead sentence. _Kjata… he just referred to himself as a third person…_

"Sephiroth… You…" he dully mutters. Then he shakes his head in denial and covers his mouth while simultaneously wiping at his upper lip as he emptily stares with a hint of horror I his eyes. "I think I'm going to be sick…"

"We can find a cure," I hopelessly mutter, and his eyes dart towards me through the reflection on the glass in the semblance of a man who thinks I might have gone mad, and I know. The cure is written all over the place. It's been used on him several times without him having any knowledge or recollection of it, and my higher reasoning tells me that it's not an option he's willing to consciously consider.

If anything, it would have to be done against his will, just as it's already been done over and over…

"I saw what became of them. I mourned for Sephiroth… I was awed by Angeal, and I feared Genesis," he tells me, and he remains as if he's nothing more than an empty vessel—resigned—as he continues to speak with an emptiness that I fear I might understand more than I want to.

"He was a gentle man, Sephiroth… He wouldn't have done this to me… I know… He was a soldier… He didn't understand the word 'No'… But when he shed those skins…." He breaks off and shakes his head before he starts to shake and breathes out as if he's holding his breath, "He was so much more…"

"…"

"But even Sephiroth, with all of his resolve—he couldn't fight what he was and he succumbed to it in the end."

He starts to nervously shake then.

"If he couldn't fight it… What would I do? Become? If I waited too long?"

He focuses his attention on me again and regards me with a bottomless pool in those obsidian eyes of his and he simply stands there as if he's afraid to move while he admits that, "I would have shot him if I'd been there, but not because of what I thought he might become."

"To save him," I regretfully conclude as he subtly nods and thoughtfully runs his left hand along the console.

"Do you think that's why he stabbed me?" he asks. "To do as I would have done…? Did he know?"

As much as I'd rather not answer the question honestly, I catch myself regretfully nodding while I reflect on my conversation with Genesis. Tseng and Sephiroth had a connection, regardless of how much I'd rather not admit to it, and it went beyond the limits of life and death, or anything else for that matter, and I'm despising the fact that a part of me is willing to believe that Sephiroth would have done anything to protect his lover even if it meant killing him.

Then he turns around and his eyes slowly drift towards Cerberus, the gun I'd aptly named that sits in my holster as we speak.

"If I asked you—"

"Don't," I mutter. Actually, I beg and suddenly wish that I wasn't the pawn that I was as my hand automatically flinches while I regard the unnatural subtleties I've always noticed about the man.

"Would you?"

"Don't ask me," I whisper, unable to raise my voice beyond the constraints that are choking it as my hand automatically settles onto the jewelled handle of Cerberus, "Please…"

"Please," Tseng repeats. But instead of making it sound mocking like he normally would, it sounds more like a request. "Vincent…"

"Vince!"

"Vince… Vincent… Valentine…" he calmly says as if to humour me. "You lost your chance with Sephiroth. You always wanted to destroy everything that he was and what he cared for."

"Shut up."

"You can regain that honour. You can finally get your chance to get even—through me. You've already humiliated me, humbled me, betrayed me and lied to me—you've already claimed your vengeance upon him through me without even realizing what you've done."

"What are you talking about?"

"You've reduced me, Vincent. You tore down the only thing that Sephiroth could tear down and you dug your claws into it to claim it as your own. You won that part already."

He stops for a moment and crumples a piece of paper in his hand that I didn't notice until now, and then he throws it at me so that it bounces off my chest while I remain unresponsive.

"If it wasn't for your _despicable _existence, I wouldn't be alive right now!"

Then he lunges at me and we both tumble to the floor.

"Time and time again… You _stupid_ imbecile! How could you not know that you've been a part of this from the beginning! You were _used_!"

"Tseng—" I choke out as we both struggle over the ownership of my gun and I fear that he's going to force me to pull the trigger while he fights against me with an adrenaline rush that I didn't know he was capable of.

"What do you think it was that saved you and Cloud when you were both being transported here so that they could use you again? What do you think it was!"

"Kjata…"

_It was him,_ I think, and I grunt when he hits me so hard that I go flying across the room. It was a creature like Bahamut, and the men were trying to capture it and it never attacked us, only them, and I reflect on the notes I just read from Lucrecia and my father.

"That's right, Vincent," he maliciously says, and then he grabs me by the collar and throws me against the other wall while I suppress my desire to voice the pain of my spine hitting the small border that runs horizontally along the wall to conceal the cords for the electrical equipment.

"I chose to understand you because I always felt that you could help me understand something about myself."

From there, he grows calm and sets his attention on my gun that sits on the floor in the middle of the room while I try to overcome the inability to move and he quietly mutters, "I just didn't know it until now."

Then he casually picks up the gun and stares at it like he's not really seeing it and walks up to me, kneels in front of me, and grabs my hand while he places my fingers over the handle and the trigger, and then he rests his chin over the barrel while coldly regarding me.

"Pull the trigger."

"Don't."

"I don't have the courage, Vincent… _Pull the trigger!_" he urgently repeats as the intensity in his eyes grows and his hands tighten over mine. Then he quickly moves the barrel towards his chest and I wince from the pain in my back over the movement.

"Or would you prefer to destroy what you've already stolen—my empty _heart_."

"I won't kill you," I tell him, and I reengage the safety while he averts his eyes downward and sits back as if he's lost every ounce of determination. He reminds me of a child all the sudden, the way that he slouches his shoulders and drapes his arms over his crossed legs and takes on a look so forlorn that it makes my heart sink.

"You can't let me live."

"…"

"Look at me," he says. "_Really._ Look at me."

I do. I look and I see the epitome of everything I've fought against in my life, as empty as it was, and I wince as I force myself to move. His eyes are empty, cold and resigned. His skin is as pale as death that it's almost unnatural. The subtle lines on his face show signs not only of age, but of regrets. Dark circles under his eyes express endless nights of nightmares and dreams of things that could have been and never were, and his hair…

His hair has grown dull with the first signs of greying.

"I'm tired," he says and he shyly smiles—that painful smile of his—and he doesn't cover it this time when he honestly tells me that, "I'm so terrified."

Then he playfully quirks his brow with a great amount of effort to lift the weight and attempts at sounding almost playful, "Pay dirt takes its toll."

It sounds more painful than playful, and I release the safety on the gun when he stands and I fight with myself to come up with a good enough reason to argue with myself. All the while, our eyes remain locked as if neither of us can really escape from the things we want and don't want.

And I wish…

I wish that I had more than my bangs to hide behind as I wince when I force myself to stand and fight the numbness in my legs. I wish that I had more than this empty shell of what used to be a man to call my home—this thing he revived from its eternal slumber to be nothing but an eternal tool, and I wish…

I wish he never showed me what it felt like to feel again.

I wish I never knew what burdens were as I aim at him, uncertain of exactly where to aim and tensing my finger over the trigger while arguing with myself that we could be wrong. It could all be lies. We could both be wrong. Maybe it was a setup to make him—us—think that he was no longer what he thought he was, like a cruel joke that some vengeful adversary from his past wanted to play to get back at him so he could hurt him.

"It can't be like the last time. You know that, right?" he says with a serious regard, and regretfully, with no intention of stopping me. "You have to make sure that they don't get their hands on me again… You have to make sure that this never happens again."

And the moment I go to reluctantly fulfill my own prophecy, a smooth, almost velvety voice from the door numbs me as I hear the sound of another gun's safety being pulled back when he says, "I'm afraid I can't let you do that."

Then Tseng pulls his gun out in the instance of a heartbeat and whirls around to aim it at the door while screaming out, "_You!_" as the man's gun quickly changes its direction from me and coldly focuses on the Turk that's furiously focussed back at him.

At the same time, Genesis appears in front of me as if out of nowhere and throws me through the glass pane behind the terminal with an ear-piercing crash that makes me feel as if everything happened in slow motion while the sound of shattering glass echoes through the insides of my skull.

"Don't make this difficult, Tseng… I did this for you," that same familiar voice says in the other room as Genesis stands over me. He serenely looks down with an angelic and compassionate expression, kneels and lightly caresses the side of my face while he musically muses over the poetic irony of it all with a sickening sense of admiration.

"How painful your existence must be," he says, and he caresses his gloved thumb across my cheekbone. "You just can't win, even when you're trying to lose. Can you, Valentine?"


	44. What 'Tonberry' Really Meant

**What 'Tonberry' Really Meant**

* * *

It's like a dream. Everything looks like a dream. Colours of grey, blue, steel… It's all a wash—everything except for Genesis. The crimson is almost blinding, emanating, and so is the bright aura that surrounds him, hurting my eyes.

I can hear Tseng in the other room demanding that they let me go while Genesis leans closer, moves his hand to my chest, and sympathetically tells me that, "You've taken heavy damage to your spine."

Then he lifts me and I scream.

"NYAAAGGGH!"

"Leave him alone Genesis!" Tseng demands.

Through the corner of my eye I can see only grey shadows. One man aiming his gun and another aiming back as if they're at a stand off, and their silhouettes suggest that neither of them is removing their attention from the other.

"The master…" I mutter, finding the words difficult to say as I struggle to weakly breathe them out, and I wince again as Genesis places me on the table and nods.

"Yes, the dog and his master are reunited… Once again so that the dog can forget…"

"Why?"

"Because we all want what we can't have… Cure2."

"AAAGGGHHH!"

"GENESIS!" Tseng urgently yells. "You don't need him! Let him go!"

"That's where you're wrong," the other man smoothly says—Tseng's master as Genesis called him, and 'S' as I've already figured…

And Rufus _Shinra_ as the rest of the world knows him—the white vision in my dreams.

_How did I miss it?_

The signs were all there. Weren't they?

"Shhh," Genesis soothes as I'm finally able to move and I reach up to grab him by the arm as nothing more than a reflex gripping into the folds of the leather while I grimace from the pain vengefully searing up my spine, and Genesis leans closer, almost overflowing with the fulfilment of watching someone else suffer.

"We lost the source of our supplies when Weapon struck," Rufus says.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Tseng angrily asks as the pain starts to subside and Genesis holds my arms down with nothing more than sheer strength.

"Valentine's spinal fluid. Since then, we've been synthesizing a substitute that doesn't seem to work as well. It works, but the duration in which it works is unstable and you've been requiring medical attention far more frequently than you should.

"However, since the remnants got their hands on you, newer complications have arisen and I've been meaning to ask you in a way that wouldn't draw suspicion."

For a moment, Rufus pauses while the two men remain immobile and I attempt to struggle with Genesis before he smiles and jumps on me to straddle my hips and pin my legs down with his boots.

"What did the remnants do to you and why haven't those scars, or any scars since then healed?"

"They tortured me," Tseng hisses, "and like a fool, I allowed it to happen because _you_ ordered me to retrieve Jenova's _head_ and I never questioned your orders. Never once, and now, I'm questioning your orders."

"Tseng…" Rufus casually starts.

"You abhor science, Rufus… Was that an act? How long have you been screwing me over and why was that damned head so important to you?"

"You can interrogate me all you want," Rufus tells him, "but I'm afraid it will be a waste of your time."

"Humour me," Tseng vehemently tells him. "Please, _Sir_."

"You're angry," Rufus points out as I start to struggle with Genesis and Rufus continues.

"You have no idea how much it pains me to see you like this."

Then he sighs.

"Very well… I abhor science because of what it's done to you, Tseng—what it's done to everyone. I watch you every moment that I can, and I watch you deteriorate while you refuse the attention that others might offer. Every day I wonder if it will be the last time I'll see you, and every day, I wonder if it wasn't for your romanticism and inability to push Sephiroth away, would we be here right now?

"Of course not," Rufus answers his own question and pushes his coat back so that he can put his free hand into his pocket.

"But you didn't stop there, did you, Tseng? No. You were a bit of a closet tramp and you have a thing for men that you should have avoided, brothels aside, and you slept with Genesis too. You allowed them both to dominate you and like a venereal disease, both the S and G strains of the Jenova cells spread to you through their semen and made you their new home."

"A part of the family," Genesis interjects while Rufus uncomfortably clears his throat.

"Well," Rufus starts, and then he quickly flicks his bangs away from his eyes while keeping them on Tseng and my vision grows clearer.

"Not exactly. You see, we don't know what is really going on inside of you because neither of us are biologists, and you're not exactly what I believe to be a textbook case. However, what we do know is that unlike Genesis and Sephiroth, who both harbour pure forms of the cells and a healthy infusion of mako along with them to theoretically keep the cells under control—"

"Theoretically," Genesis bitterly interjects, and then he grabs one of the straps before we both start fighting over it. "A theory that was proven wrong."

"Mm," Rufus agrees and puts his hand back in his pocket. "Well, let's just say that you're more of a hybrid. Thanks to Hojo being yet one more level of a madman than we thought he was capable of. He completely cleaned your system of any defensive forms of mako whatsoever.

"So unlike ordinary soldiers and myself, you had no mako to inhibit the cells from spreading in your body like a wildfire. Now it would appear that you're a little more of a fusion between the two, along with a little bit of a fusion of—"

"A Bahamut," Tseng finishes, "and Vincent."

"I see," Rufus concludes. "You read the papers."

"You insane moron, Rufus! What the hell are you expecting to gain from this? My loyalty? My praise?"

"I need you, Tseng," Rufus answers, and Genesis leans close enough to whisper into my ear.

"He sounds like Sephiroth sometimes."

_Kjata…_

"Need me," Tseng mockingly repeats. "The harbinger of 'fear' himself actually _needs_ someone? You must have gone without oxygen far longer than I thought after Weapon's attack and suffered severe brain damage."

"No," Rufus responds. "You were in the process of being revived before that incident. I fear you're the one that may have been damaged."

"So you teamed up with Genesis."

"He's the only one that knows the full extent of your condition."

"Sephiroth knew," Genesis adds before I finally break my wrist free when he almost has me secured and I manage to push him off of me so I can roll on top of him from the table to the floor as we both grunt from the impact.

"That doesn't make sense, Rufus. You know damned well that Genesis wouldn't do anything if it wasn't for his own gain."

"Of course… There is a catch, as always. It would appear that the fusion of the Bahamut species, and possibly Valentine's DNA, fused with everything else swimming around in that cesspool of a body of yours that Genesis is able to extract his own G cells that merged with Jenova's in a purified form with summon materia."

"You've got to be joking," Tseng bitterly mutters while Genesis quietly grabs onto me and pulls me closer when I attempt to get loose, causing me to grunt as I wind up lying on top of him in a vicelike embrace.

"I'm afraid not. Like you, the cells only regenerate him for so long."

"So why not just let him die? You don't need him if that's all the good he is to you."

"I'd expect no less from you," Rufus comments. "Always quick to judge for the sake of covering up your own faults. Unfortunately, as much as I abhor Genesis and his tactics, I'm afraid that he's just as critical as Valentine is to your survival.

"The only difference is that once we're done with Valentine, your odd choice of lovers is disposable… You see, the trick to Genesis' survival is the constant flow, back and forth between two entities. As it dies in one, it refreshes in the other, and as he regenerates to his peak, the part of you that is affected by the G cells dies and mutates—That's when he transfers the energy back to you and when you regenerate to your peak. The part of Genesis that is affected dies and mutates, and he must transfer that energy back.

"He believes that if it wasn't for Hojo's attempt to keep you alive all those years ago by performing a similar procedure on you that was done to Valentine that the transfer wouldn't be possible. But thanks to the Bahamut's energy signature, the use of summon materia becomes an entirely different tool for survival, and thanks to Genesis' unusual talent with summon materia, he's able to control it so that he doesn't wind up ripping your soul out in the process."

"He's much more valuable to me alive," Genesis adds before I manage to break loose again and he grabs me by the ankle to stop me from getting away.

"You've completely lost your mind," Tseng flatly concludes. "I trusted you, Rufus. I took care of you."

"Yes, and I hoped to take care of you too. I hoped that Jenova's head would offer some clues as to what we could do to end this madness."

"You know damned well what would have ended the madness!"

"Leave you dead?" Rufus mockingly asks. "I won't have that."

"Of course not. Rufus Shinra _always _has to have his way. You haven't changed."

"You're partially correct. But it wasn't entirely about what I wanted. It was about the unity that you inspired. Without you, the others would have left. They would have scattered and lost their way and they would have—"

"Are you listening to yourself?" Tseng disbelievingly asks. "Or is that an ability you're incapable of? The whole damned thing sounds _selfish_, Rufus. It's not about the _others_, and it's not about you _caring_, which is utterly laughable. It's about the fact that you can't _control_ anything without me. You lack the leadership qualities and you lack the loyalty, and if it wasn't for my own _stupidity_ to blindly follow you without question, you'd have _nothing_!"

"Well," Rufus slowly says, "you certainly have me figured out without sugar-coating it as usual."

Then Rufus waves his gun towards the door to the room Genesis and I are in before Genesis throws me back onto the table and I grunt while he grabs the straps with more determination this time to secure me and tells me that, "I guess play time is over. Pity… I like you, Valentine."

"Lucky me…" I grunt while Genesis takes on a sly look and loosely straps my wrist so that my hand is suspiciously close to my gun as if he doesn't really want his 'play time' to be over yet.

Then he leans close enough to my ear and whispers, "Koerin's men are on their way, along with the other Turks that Rufus dispatched after them in hopes of stopping them before they all find out what's going on… I wonder what will happen?"

After that, he stands straight, looks down at me and smiles, and I stare back at him like I have no idea what in the hell to expect, do, or say. All I really do know is that I have no idea how in the hell Tseng has managed to maintain the level of clear-headedness he's maintained if he'd been surrounded by this much madness for a good portion of his life.

It's no wonder he's so closed and cautious.

And it's no wonder he was so damned accepting of my own varying levels of paranoia. He practically swims in an ocean of madness and probably thought nothing of it.

"I'm not going in there," Tseng says, stubbornly refusing to follow Rufus' silent request to join us.

"Yes you are."

"I'm done taking orders from you."

"If that were true. You'd have no problem pulling that trigger right now and putting an end to this," Rufus challenges, "and since I'm willing to bet that you'd rather have me shoot you, and I'm also aware that it would make no difference if I did. I'd rather make this more pleasant for you and less for him."

"Enough has been done to him already," Tseng vehemently hisses.

"How romantic. You really do love the man, and even after everything you've discovered about yourself today, you still insist on believing that he has it worse than you," Rufus concludes. "What is it exactly, about the rebel image that attracts you so blindly? Sephiroth refused to wear a shirt, Reno refuses to do his up… And this one… Well, derelict's a bit of an understatement," Rufus snickers out, "and they all have long hair."

Then Rufus quickly aims his gun at me and shoots me in the same leg Tseng always shoots me in and I painfully growl while Genesis sharply glares for a moment before he quickly tends to me and Rufus returns his aim to Tseng.

"The next one will be fatal. We only need a fresh supply from him, and once we have that it will be easy enough to clone. Now move."

* * *

"Perhaps you'd like me to conduct my own euthanasia while we're at it?" Tseng dryly asks as he stands beside me and quickly glances at the strap around my wrist near the gun and then he takes an inconspicuous moment to suspiciously regard Genesis when he slowly adds, "It might help ease your immoral conscience."

"Immoral," Rufus mutters as he grabs Tseng by the upper arm and escorts him to the other table. "You'd know all about a lack of morals, wouldn't you?"

"Oh please do indulge me with whatever immoral acts I've conducted by following the orders from you and your father."

"How about I skip that part and indulge on the moment you forced me over my desk on the day that Sephiroth died."

"Is that what this is about? Somehow, I assumed you liked that—you kept coming back for more. Not to mention that you were shamelessly throwing yourself at me like a cuahl in heat," Tseng tauntingly says before he sadistically snickers. "Or was it the fact that I wasn't the one who kept coming back for more that bothered you?"

All I can do is hope that the sound of Rufus slugging Tseng across the face sounded worse than it really was as Genesis leans down and quietly says as if he doesn't want to disturb the other two, "Just think of all the things you missed out on by resting in that dungeon of yours."

Then Tseng chuckles and wipes the blood from his mouth while coldly staring at Rufus who's pressed the barrel of his gun to Tseng's forehead.

"Will I be of much use to you if you blow my head off, Rufus?"

"Sheer madness," Genesis muses, and then he toothily grins and watches the other two as if he were watching an awe-inspiring movie while Rufus orders Tseng to shut up.

_Kjata…_

"Go on," Tseng viciously growls. "Do it!"

Then he roughly pushes Rufus back to prove that he's not afraid of him and when Rufus returns his aim towards Tseng's chest, Tseng ducks so that his head is the target and madly smiles at him.

After that, they both look up to the red lights the moment the facility's alarms go off due to a breach and Tseng starts to laugh at the irony.

"It would appear that Koerin found the place."

Rufus curses and Tseng's laughter changes to a soft snicker before he turns to me with a sudden look of remorse. Then he looks at Genesis and back down to my wrist again and subtly quirks his brow. He nods, pulls the safety back on his gun, and runs out into the hall while Rufus chases after him.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"To get myself blown to pieces. There'll be less for you to salvage that way."

"Hm," Genesis quietly muses as he continues to stand there with that strange grin on his face that turns serene as he mindlessly undoes the strap around my wrist and stares at the door with a star-crossed look in his eyes, "I never thought I'd see the day."

Then he quickly undoes my other wrist and grabs me before I know what's happening.

* * *

We're suddenly outside. Snow is heavily falling from the dark grey clouds above and it's threatening to get worse as the winds are starting to pick up and I assume that Genesis can teleport. Koerin's vehicles are outside the facility and the front entrance is open from what looks like an explosion, and in the concealment of the storm, Rufus' Turks are following with their weapons readied.

"It's about to get ugly," Genesis sighs, and I ready my gun and start to run towards the building on instinct before I'm roughly tugged back by my cloak.

He pounces on me then, to hold me down and I struggle with him as I try to get away. I feel like a mouse that's being played with by a cat by the way he allows me to nearly get away before he drags me back, over and over, and over.

When he finally stops, I assume it's because the other Turks have finally made it inside and the sound of gunfire has started, and I lay on my stomach with my face buried in the snow while Genesis madly hisses into my ear, "Let them kill each other. There'll be less of them to get in the way afterwards."

_After what?_ I dreadfully wonder, and then I realize that I don't really want to know while I contemplate giving up and succumbing to the sound of the screams inside my head—the comfort of my own agony while Genesis starts to mindlessly pet my hair as if I were an animal.

Stroking over and over, and over, madly…

"When Tseng escaped the last time," he tells me, "he'd already entered the next stage."

"Next stage of what?"

"We don't know. But something changed and he managed to escape with the help of the snow witches before we were able to try to correct the issue. Then he managed to summon the Bahamut. He's been known to do it only twice now—both under extreme conditions and with absolutely no recollection, and he attacked us and the vehicle transporting you and Cloud. He's powerful, Vincent. Think of it… A member of the Bahamut fused with the power of Jenova and the will of genocide. He could be the beginning of the end to a beginning.

"We were wrong though, on many levels. His mutations don't seem to follow the same path as mine or Sephiroth's. I discovered this the last time we examined him and I hid the evidence from Rufus."

"Why?"

"Because, Valentine, I much prefer you over a _Shinra_ descendant. You're less likely to stand in my way because you understand what he is more than Rufus ever could. You know first hand, and you'd do anything for him, even if it meant betraying him, and he likes you, _trusts_ you—"

"Not anymore."

"You don't know him like I do. He's quick to forgive those he loves and as much as you don't want to hear it, you remind him of Sephiroth."

Then Genesis' voice grows dark when he adds, "He'd do anything for Sephiroth…"

Maybe something snapped inside. I'm not sure. I don't even know if it had anything to do with the mention of Sephiroth's name or if it was simply over the sheer madness of it all. All I really do know is that Tseng doesn't want to live if he thinks he's a monster and I don't want him to live if he's going to be more miserable than he already is.

I don't want him to die either.

But I can't stand in his way and I manage to throw Genesis a far enough distance from me while compulsively firing my gun at him before I have to reload and he starts laughing, growing in sheer size, and for a moment, I think I might be imagining it.

I'm not though, and I simply stand there and watch, looking farther up as he expands and I'm thinking it would have been nice if Cloud never woke me from that coffin. He's something entirely different from Sephiroth and Jenova, and I'm not exactly sure how I'd go about stopping something that grotesque and huge without any help. Bullets only seemed to exasperate him into this stage.

_Kjata…_

So I run.

* * *

I run so fast that my legs burn.

So much is going on around me. Gunfire lights up the entranceways to the lab and thoughts of Tseng's fate gnaw at my insides while I blindly leap over hills of snow and ice and crevices that reach too deep to measure over a quick passing. Several times, I lose my footing and I slip, sliding hard into a bank or a frozen ledge of shifting ground while grunting from the pain of the impact.

All the while, that _thing_ mercilessly chases me, but he does it like he's toying with me, never catching up or getting as close as I suspect he's capable of. And before I know it, we're far enough away that I can no longer hear the gunfire and when I make my next jump over another raised ledge, I misjudge and wind up falling into a deep crevice.

When I land and scream at the sound of one of my bones snapping, I hear the sound of that creature scream too, and I suddenly wonder exactly who or what I'm running away from, Genesis, Tseng, or myself as I wait for that maniacal beast to jump down here and torture me some more.

He doesn't come though.

And I grimace while wondering if I should continue waiting or if I should continue torturing myself with all the 'what-ifs'.

Did he turn back once he realized I was trapped? Is he going after Tseng now? Why did he scream?

And I wait a bit longer before I run the fingers of my free hand over the gauntlet that shields my motionless arm and wince when a flash of Sephiroth and Tseng pierce through my thoughts.

* * *

"_If I died, I'd wait forever for you," Sephiroth tells him while he lightly strokes Tseng's cheek and pulls him down into a kiss before he mumbles with his lips still against Tseng's. "Would you do the same for me?"_

"_No," Tseng mutters, and he starts trailing wanton kisses down Sephiroth's neck, gently, and he tangles his fingers into the man's silver-white hair. He keeps his other arm curled under Sephiroth's knee and pulls it higher while he rhythmically moves under the silk sheets._

"_Mm," Sephiroth purrs and smiles while he runs his fingers through Tseng's black hair and closes his eyes as he lazily breathes out, "I don't believe you."_

* * *

I rub my eyes before I clench my teeth and prepare myself. Then I scream as loud as I can when I reset my arm, no longer caring if the world can hear the layers of agony that I've released and I shakily mutter out, "Cure2," as if I didn't really want to say it when I see the image of Sephiroth standing before me.

Everything is quiet. There's no echo of gunfire in the distance, not even for my sensitive ears to hear, and I grimace when my bones refuse. Then I force myself to get up and I stumble forward while looking for a way out. There has to be a way out, and I wind up using the claws on my gauntlet and the points on the armoured toes of my boots to dig into the ice-wall surrounding me.

"Return him to you…" I grunt out as I near the top. "Safe and sound…"

Part of me says I should just give up. But I can't, and when I finally get out and start walking towards the lab, Genesis is on the ground, hunched over and cradling himself as if he's been wounded.

A trap, maybe, and I don't bother to waste my time trying to find out when he weekly laughs as I pass.

"He was shot, Valentine…" he grunts out after me, and then he chokes out as he tries to get up and falls over with his arm embracing his gut. "I can feel it…"

I only nod, and for good measure, I pull out my gun and fire a few more shots into him without bothering to turn around to even see if I hit him. I just don't care all the sudden, about anything, not even the possibility that Tseng might have felt it if Genesis was able to feel Tseng—assuming that's what's going on.

Madness.

All of it.

Right back to Hojo.

* * *

"_Hehehe… Did you really think there was supposed to be any meaning in all of this? It's science, Valentine. Even Lucrecia and your father understood what it meant to detach their emotions from their work. That's why neither of them thought too highly of your future."_

_My future… _I thought. _I don't have a future…_

* * *

"_You could have surpassed them both. Your father used to take you to the labs and let you work with him. I saw with my own eyes how brilliant you were. From the smallest pieces of a puzzle, you were able to see the big picture and come up with solutions that even we couldn't think of. Yet you pissed it all away to be a mindless drone of a Turk! Why?"_

"_Because I hate what you are."_

"_One day, you'll see the importance of our work. Why do you think I kept you alive?"_

* * *

"Because you're sick," I mutter out.

I barely realize that I'd already walked into the bowels of the lab.

Like Genesis said, I'm a machine designed to do only one thing. Kill. And that's what I do to anything that moves. I shoot it without thinking twice and reload as needed until I finally make it back to the room where Tseng discovered all the things he never wanted to discover about himself.

All the lies that became truths and all the truths that he wanted to be lies are here, and when I walk through the door, Reno is standing in the middle. He has a gun in his hand instead of his usual baton and he's breathing unevenly while gripping a handful of papers with bloodied hands.

"I was too late," he confesses. Then he wipes his forehead with the sleeve of his forearm and motions his gun towards the dead body on the floor that attracts my attention. "Who'd have ever thought it'd come to this?"

"You killed him," I observe, while noting the blood running from the centre of the man's forehead, still fresh as it stains the white coat, the white vest, and the white shirt under another black vest. The strands of blonde hair in his bangs have turned pinkish and stained, growing darker the closer they fall towards the wound, and those clear blue eyes stare blankly into nothingness.

"This wasn't part of my job," Reno says as I slowly walk around him to see that he's bleeding from a bullet wound on his shoulder, slightly above the heart. Rufus must have shot him back at the last moment.

"Thought we all… had somethin… ya know…?"

He weekly laughs then, a little sad as he shakily reaches into his coat pocket and takes out a broken cigarette while confessing that, "Tseng did'n know I started again… Could'n handle it the last time he disappeared."

Then he lights it and takes a drag from it while it crackles as if it's too stale.

"The stress gets ta me sometimes… ya know?"

"Yeah," I choke out, and I take another look around the room while Reno sways and then steadies himself with a swift jerk, "Where is he?"

"Who?"

"Tseng."

"Dunno," Reno mutters and stares off into space before he shakily takes another heavy drag and closes his eyes while swaying as if he's dizzy. "They were fightin… Rufus was… draggin him to this room and I… followed. Someone shot Tseng, and when I realized what was goin on… what Rufus was doin… I…"

"Shot him," I finish, and I take another look at Rufus and sneer. The son of a bitch had it coming.

"Yeah…" Reno confesses, and then he takes another drag. "He shot me first… Then Tseng told me he had to go… somewhere… Said he did'n want me followin 'im… He gave me this," he says, and pulls Tseng's locket out of his pocket. "Said somethin 'bout… his mother… Wants his mother to have it…"

Then he poorly jokes, "Did'n know he had one. Thought he was hatched from an egg, ya know?"

Hesitantly, I reach for it and take it from his shaky hand after he tightens his grip over it in reluctance and then lets it go.

"He ain't gonna want her to know about any'a this… Any of it…"

"I know," I tell him. "Where did he go?"

"Outside… I think… started talking gibberish 'bout someone named Sara-Ann… Said he was gonna reap what he'd sewn."

"Kjata," I mutter, and I start walking towards the door and stop for a moment when Reno calls my name.

"Valentine… He don't wancha goin after 'im… Let him go…"

"I can't…" I tell him. Then I leave and clench my teeth as I hear him fall to the floor while muttering that, "They're all dead…"

* * *

"Tseng!"

It's just like the dream. The snow is thick and furiously blowing, covering my footsteps as fast as they're appearing and hiding any trace of where Tseng might have gone.

Only unlike my dream, he's left a trail of dead witches in his wake. Each one has a clean shot between her eyes and I can only wonder if he did it because they were trying to help him or if it's because he decided he was going to end something he started years ago.

A last stand, maybe, for what little it was worth, and I almost call his name again when I hear someone else call it before they start talking to him and I start to run towards the direction of their voices.

"It's over Koerin," I hear Tseng laboriously say. "You got what you wanted. Rufus is dead, my men are dead, and so are yours."

"You're still alive, Tseng," Koerin bitterly responds.

"Not for much longer. I'll either bleed or freeze to death, whichever comes first. Now get the hell out of here and save yourself!"

"No," Koerin protests. "You don't deserve a noble death, Tseng."

"You can't keep me alive!"

"Yes I can. All I have to do is wait and do as Rufus would have done with you," I hear Koerin say, just as they both fall into sight and I automatically shoot Koerin in the back before Tseng turns his gun to me and yells as if he sees me as nothing less than a threat.

"Stay away from me, Vincent!" And I suddenly understand my dream as he drops his gun from fingers that have grown too cold to hold it and he falls to the ground. It wasn't me that shot him. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, like always, and I run toward him to pull him into my arms.

"You're gonna be okay," I tell him. "Stay with me."

Then I pull him up and start walking him back to the lab while he begs me to stop.

"Please… Vince… Stop…" he laboriously breathes out and stumbles backwards when he slips out of my arms and falls to the ground. "I can't…"

Then he grimaces and lies down in the snow as if he's found comfort while he mumbles out, "I'm done…"

As much as I don't want to resign, I leave it at that and I simply stare down at him. His lips are chapped and blue and his lashes and brows are frozen, covered in frost while he lies on his side and stares off into the distance. He's not shivering anymore and I struggle with the urge to ignore his wishes and take him back.

But for what?

Even if I did, there'd be nothing left for him to want to live for and I set my attention on the blood soaking the front of his shirt. It's almost frozen now.

Rufus shot him in the stomach and was probably going to do whatever it was he'd been doing to Tseng for years, and I kneel beside him while muttering, "It's cold out," and I pull him back into my arms to cradle him and keep him warm as best as I can. "You're going to freeze out here."

"I wish…" he mumbles, weakly breathing as he struggles to speak and his body remains motionless.

"Shhh…"

"I wish… that I never had… to do this to you…"

"You didn't do anything," I mutter, and I stare off into the distance while I carefully wrap my arms more securely around him and start to rock him.

"Just think… if only you'd stayed away."

"I didn't want to."

"You wouldn't… have to do this… again…"

"Again?" I ask, and I try to bury the notion that his thoughts are already going.

"You've already lost so much…"

_That's the way it is though, _I think.

That's the way it always is, and I wind up mindlessly petting his hair while I feel him winding down and his breathing weakens. Then he pushes back with a frail touch and I attempt to guess that he wants to rest back in the open instead of being smothered in my arms.

So I adjust myself to hold him as if he were a child in my arms and I rest my hand over his wound as if there were a small chance that I could stop the bleeding while he stares at the grey ceiling of treacherous wind and snow. Then I brush my warm thumb over his frozen brows to try to clear them of the frost and smear them with blood instead.

"I always wanted to tell you…" he mumbles, growing difficult to hear and I return to brushing his hair back, clearing the snow that clouds it only to have it reappear instantly, "To say it…" Then he weekly smiles as his eyes start to glaze over and he mutters my full name like the sound of it brings him comfort.

"Don't," I say, choking on my own words and knowing that he can't hear me anymore while he says what he wants to say anyway.

"I love…" he starts, and then he winces from a sharp pain before he turns his head away as if something is calling to him and his arm falls acceptingly in the same direction. His palm is up as if to hold something and he faintly smiles again while his eyes grow more lifeless and he finishes his sentence with a word that clamps onto my heart and crushes it, "Sephiroth…"

It's not just my heart that is crushing though, it's my entire chest and my throat as it closes in on itself.

_Safe and sound,_ I hatefully think.

_You win._

Then a sense of empty pride starts to tug at my exterior when I think of all the times I almost said it or wanted to say it and I never did. I even went so far as to ask him what he'd do if I told him that I loved him, and it's a small victory that means nothing while I close his stiff eyes and mutter out a substitute for the word.

"Tonberry…"

It suddenly means so much to me now, and I think I understand why Sephiroth had chosen that name for him. He kills, Tseng does, and he'd never let another person tell him how they felt about him. It was always Tseng that had to be on top while never allowing himself to allow others to let themselves get close to him. Even Sephiroth had to utter the words for the man he loved in the darkness while his lover slept, never in his conscious presence, and the word 'Tonberry' became an acceptable substitute for the words he really wanted to say.

And just like a tonberry, Tseng pierces through the flesh with a needle-sharp accuracy and fatally wounds what's inside so that he can destroy what he views as a weakness, and I lean over Tseng with mixed feelings of remorse, hatred, spite, regret, and bereavement over the fact that as much as I want and wanted to hate him, I couldn't and can't.

His lips are lifeless and cold when I rest mine against them. One last kiss, I think, and I linger while choking on the lump that arises from his last words and the recurring theme of the senseless and meaningless void that has become my life.


	45. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

* * *

_"It hurts, doesn't it," Genesis said to me as I made my way back to the building. He was still alive and crouched in the snow as if he'd been dragging himself back to the laboratory, "Knowing that even in the end… After everything in between… that he would go to Sephiroth."_

_"You're not dead," I dully muttered, and I mindlessly fondled my forefinger over the trigger of my gun while I blankly stared in the direction of the lab and wondered why Tseng thought it was a base and why he thought he'd destroyed it. _

_He was so certain._

_"I know… what you're… going through…" Genesis grunted out as he stumbled closer to me and pulled out his sword to pierce it into the ground so that he could support himself. It was just like the one in my dreams—the steel handle that reminded me of pewter. _

_It was intricately designed with carvings that extended beyond the hilt and slightly down the blade, and the design on the guard reminded me of an Ark Dragon with its wings spread. It was a straight-sword, unlike Sephiroth's, and broader. The fuller was tinted red, almost dominating the entire blade while the steal edges retained their natural finish. It wasn't as long as Sephiroth's and it appeared more ornate and royal._

_"How did you do it?"_

_"Do… what?"_

_"Make him think he destroyed the place," I said, and I continued to stare at the direction of the building._

_"Rufus…" Genesis grunted out as he struggled to stand while gripping onto the hilt of his sword, "felt Tseng… was getting too close to… finding the place… So he called in a specialist… Tseng was at an impressionable stage… Shot him when he was done…"_

_"If he didn't want him finding the place, why did you give me the map and tell me to bring him here?"_

_"Was different this time… Needed…" Genesis broke off and almost fell down again. Then he shook his head like he was trying to force himself to stay awake. "Wasn't finished… Running out of time… Needed him to come back…"_

_"So you used me."_

_"Had to."_

_"Mm," I grunted, and I started to walk away while Genesis called after me._

_"It's not too late," he said, and I stopped in my tracks without bothering to turn around. Part of me wanted to hear him out and the other part of me—the one that was still stroking the trigger on Cerberus—wanted to silence him once and for all. But strangely, Genesis was all I had that was left of Tseng, and I simply stood there, frozen and black inside._

_"Too late for what?" I asked, and I could almost feel the conniving grin start to play across his lips as he stared at my back and uttered my own thoughts back to me._

_The unthinkable._

* * *

"So…" Reno started.

Almost three weeks had passed since I left the nightmare behind and I chose to save Reno instead of Genesis and his madness while Tseng remained where I left him—preserved on the frozen ground, never to decay as he should have. I don't know, maybe a part of me didn't want to see him go just yet, despite that he'd asked me to ensure that it would never happen again.

"What did she say?"

"She said…" I started as I stared at the crisp hospital sheets over Reno's legs and pushed his water towards him as a side thought, "that she knew."

"Knew what?" He asked, and then he grimaced when he moved his arm to grab the water and I noted the bandages over his chest and shoulder looked cleaner that day.

"Everything," I muttered, and I lowered my head. "She always knew what he was—what he did… The only thing she couldn't understand was why he never told her."

"Heh… mothers," Reno mumbled as he put the straw in his mouth and took a small sip while I reflected on the fact that Reno had always known too.

He just couldn't seem to get Tseng to admit to it no matter how much he flirted with him or outright tried to call him on it.

He tried everything, he said, simply to satisfy his own curiosity and have Tseng finally admit to Reno's suspicions. Regardless though, a part of me was still uncertain what Reno's real motives were while he continued that, "Can't pull nothin past them."

Then he paused for a thoughtful moment and picked at the salad I brought for him since he'd been complaining about the Icicle Inn Hospital's lack of fresh food.

"What'd she do when ya gave her the locket?"

"She cried."

"Ya know…" he trailed off and took a moment to pull another leaf out of the salad to quickly chew on it while he winced when he tried to sit up, "you must be the only person that's ever met her… Even Sephiroth never met her.

"Ain't no one knows what she looks like, what she's like, or even where she lives… not even her name… Well, I'm guessin' it's Xvan now, but I ain't too sure from all the crazy I read in Hojo's notes… Am I guessin right? Hojo was in love with Tseng's mom? Like I mean… That's some pretty fucked up shit to think about… Ya know?"

"Mm," I muttered.

Then I got up and helped him sit before I pushed the tray closer to him so he could reach it better. I guessed I wasn't the only one that Tseng kept things from and felt a little better over that small fact.

Yet it wasn't enough to fill anything up and my thoughts grew darker by the day. Things I could do to fill the emptiness swam in my head towards dangerous depths. Both Genesis and Tseng were out there. Both of them were frozen, preserved, and both of them could be brought back at any given moment, and I wound up giving my head a shake as I grabbed a piece of cucumber from Reno's salad and walked over to the window and stared off into the direction where I left them both to lay.

The old madness that came with Tseng's presence might have left. The dreams may have been silenced, and I may have even resigned myself to simply being nothing more than a phantom in people's memories, and I thoughtfully chewed on the flavourless vegetable that Reno insisted on eating without any dressing.

"It ruins the flavour," he said, and I came to discover that he preferred to eat everything in its natural state. He felt that it tasted better that way.

After I managed to finally choke it back, I started reminiscing over Genesis and what he said to me before I left him there as Reno began chattering away and I barely heard a word he said—the struggle inside was growing stronger by the day and suffocating every last piece of resolve I had left. What Genesis suggested was immoral and beyond madness, and I was considering it as I turned to stare emptily at Reno through heavy bangs as he continued to speak like the sound of his own voice was the only thing that brought him comfort, "Ya know?"

"Mm," I agreed, and I didn't really care about what it was I was agreeing to while I thoughtfully stroked the handle on my gun and then turned so I could lean against the wall.

All I was able to focus on was Tseng. His kiss, his touch… For all the brutality that the man possessed, he was gentle and kind when he allowed himself to be, and I found myself wanting it more than anything else while constantly reminding myself that it was gone—all of it was gone. Yet he wasn't exactly gone—not technically.

There were so many things I could have done, so many paths I could have taken to affect my life in an infinite number of ways. I could have followed in my father's footsteps like he wanted me to, and it wasn't too late, I briefly thought—I had forever—before my throat tightened in resistance at the possibilities again. Every one of them led back to the one thought I didn't want to think about because it went beyond immoral.

And like a continuing cycle I invented solely to torture myself with, I repetitively asked myself the same question every time I came to the same conclusion and desire.

_Would I have done the same to Lucrecia?_

…

But then again, Tseng wasn't Lucrecia. All the work had already been done and the plans were already written and laid out, and like Genesis said, he wouldn't have to remember a single thing.

"_He never does,"_ he assured, and he even suggested that Reno could be involved to ease Tseng's transition. _"With enough persuasion… he'd do it… Tseng's a God to him…" _

He even went so far as to suggest something more insane than he was already suggesting.

* * *

_"But then again… with Tseng's body already… advancing to the next stage… it would be difficult to predict… the outcome… A different body—"_

"_What the hell are you suggesting?"_

"_A different… body," Genesis flatly repeated as if that's exactly what he was suggesting._

* * *

"Ya always this quiet?"

"Mm," I muttered, and I stared at the tips of the claws on my gauntlet while wondering if I'd really want Reno involved. Not only that, would Tseng ever forgive me regardless of which way I chose Reno to be involved?

_Of course not… _I thought, before I slightly turned my head to regard him and he took another bite from his salad.

* * *

"_It's either that… Or take a chance… on creating something… you'd only have to hunt… and kill… over… and over."_

_"Or I could just let him rest."_

* * *

"I kind'a hafta admit that it's a little creepy," Reno mumbled with his mouth full. "Yer a bit of a brooder… and ya kind'a… Well… Guess it jus bother's me cuz ya don't say much and I can't help but wonder what's goin through yer head… Heh… Tseng was a little like that too though… Guess I should be used to it, eh?

"I'm curious though… Is that whatcha liked about him?" he asked, and then he quizzically regarded me and attempted to look past my bangs so he could try to figure out what I was thinking. "Was he like some kind'a penance fer ya?"

_Hm_, I wondered. He'd be more of a penance if I did what I knew I shouldn't have done.

Then I pulled out the chair by Reno's bed and sat beside him, staring and thinking while he uneasily continued to eat his salad and attempted to ignore me like every other time I'd done it since I brought him there.

And like every other time, I wondered why I brought him there.

* * *

"_You'd get used to it, Valentine… and eventually… He'd learn to accept it… Just… consider… that he only… said what he said… to spare you from yourself… It's easier to let him go if… you hate him…"_

* * *

**This was probably the most difficult thing I've had to write to date. Vincent is such a dark, brooding, and depressed character that he is the epitome of angst in my eyes, and choosing to write it in the style that I chose proved to be more of a challenge and it dragged me down more than I thought it would; for many reasons. One was that I wound up feeling too close to the character and out of sync with myself due to the issues he was struggling with, and the other was that it made it difficult to explore the other characters without throwing a little bit of 'crazy' into the story line.**

**Of course, anyone that's read my other stories would know that I don't shy away from crazy.**

**But this was a bit different. In many ways it was more of an experiment. I always wanted to see how these two would mix after I fabricated their friendship (nothing more) in one of my other stories – they never appealed to me until I created the dynamics of those two and watched them evolve, and it got me thinking. Also, after seeing who they were in Crisis Core, Dirge of Cerberus, FFVII, and Advent Children, I thought that it would be exactly what it became – a challenge.**

**Throughout each story line from Square, Vincent never lost his angst. He was always a miserable, antisocial, self-destructive and brooding character (maybe even a little masochistic too). That really only depicts one fate, and that's always the fate that no one really wants to see since it's heavily peppered with burdens, penance, and bad luck (let's not mention that the man was murdered, experimented on, and fused with a demon before he was locked in a coffin for 30 years on top of that – he's going to have some issues). His main focus has always been on his sins, which are non-existent or fabricated in my eyes, and Lucrecia – who was the one that was guilty (and whiny too—incessantly whiny). Yet he managed to convince himself that it was him that needed her forgiveness instead of the other way around.**

**Tseng, on the other hand, was a bit more complex. In Crisis Core, he had a bit of an impish side where he giggled at people without sharing the inside joke – mostly Zack. Was he laughing with you or at you? He appeared a bit forgiving, soft, and – dare I say it – feminine and a bit seductive, and it wasn't just because he had a pony tail. Seriously, his hips swayed in a very sultry way. Anyone who's played it must have noticed. Either way though, my son pointed out the fact that Tseng must have been pretty strong to withstand the Fire spell that Genesis threw at him when they finally caught up to him in one of the labs, and I thought, _Hmmm_.**

**To be honest, I was a little disappointed in his character that time around, but I was willing to accept it as the whole package based solely on the thought that he hardened with time, and I also liked the way that he watched over Aerith. He appeared to enjoy watching her from afar and it struck me as a bit fatherly.**

**In FFVII, he was dark, quiet, and professional, and he was also quick-tempered and easily irritated – anyone remember the time he slugged Aerith so hard that she fell to the floor of the helicopter when she tried to tell Barret where Marlene was? He did that right before he gave Reno the orders to drop the plate over Sector Seven. He was a bit of a bad-ass in FFVII, and he harboured a little bit of resentment towards the fact that he felt he was underpaid – enter the short conversation between him and Scarlet outside of Gongaga while they're standing by the broken reactor that Cloud and Company are hiding behind.**

**In Advent Children, you hardly see him unless you have the Blu-Ray version with the extra 20 or so minutes – it's so worth it. Either way, he looks pretty mean and comes across as very serious and dark, and maybe even a bit sadistic too. There's one part I particularly love, and that's the 'look' that him and Rufus briefly share when they're all reunited right before the big motorcycle chase. It was quick and you'd really have to watch to catch it, but it was very communicative at the same time. For me, that summed Tseng up to a tee – effective.**

**Those aspects made these two very difficult to write when it came to me wanting to make anything work between them. Their polarity is in constant flux. In a way, I see them both as 'birds of a feather' that don't necessarily 'flock together'. Yet in many ways, there's something endearing about the thought of these two fortifying their strength in one another. Unfortunately, there really was no other outcome, short of a Greek Tragedy, that would have been as complete for these two. They either would have killed each other due to their inabilities to deal with their own baggage, or they would have continued hurting one another until they finally parted. Happily ever after just doesn't work for two people as miserable as Tseng and Vincent. At least, it's just not something I could easily buy into, despite how much I'd like to prove myself wrong.**

**Heck, I even tried. But alas, these idiots wrote themselves and I was merely a vessel floating upon their sullied waters. It didn't matter what I wanted or wished for, they did what they wanted to do anyway.**

**Maybe that's why I fought with myself for a good couple of days on whether to do this Epilogue or not. I was debating on whether or not to simply end it the way it ended on 'What Tonberry Really Meant.' It ended well there, I thought… for an ending, that is. On the other hand, I just couldn't bring myself to finalize it there – it was too final. There's something infinite and cyclic about these two, and despite how twisted and malformed their realities are, it felt better for me to leave it open, even if it meant something horrid, unthinkable, or risky.**

**This way, in my mind, there is always a small remnant of hope, and always room to imagine anything that could possibly arise from the possibilities that are left behind.**

**Thanks to everyone that read this, I appreciate your support as always.**

**Regards,**

**Anyone up for a back story? No promises; just curious.**

**ETA: There is a back story in progress now. It's called: Nullified.**


End file.
